THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


MARGARET: 

A   TALE    OF    THE 

REAL  AND  THE  IDEAL,  BLIGHT  AND  BLOOM; 

INCLUDING 

SKETCHES   OF   A  PLACE  NOT  BEFORE  DESCRIBED, 
CALLED 

MOWS  CHRISTI. 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 

REVISED   EDITION. 


"  It  is  the  vernal  season ;  for  the  heart  is  every  moment  longing  to  walk  in  the 
garden,  and  every  bird  of  the  trove  is  melodious  in  its  carols  as  the  nightingale ;  thou 
wilt  fancy  it  a  dawning  zephyr  o!  early  spring,  or  new  year's  day  morning ;  but  it  U 
the  breath  of  Jesus,  for  in  that  fresh  breath  and  verdure  the  dead  earth  is  reviving." — 
SAA.OI. 


BT  THE   AUTHOR  OF  "  PHILO,"  AND  "  RICHARD  EDNET  'AND  THE 
GOVERNOR'S  FAMILY." 

VOLUME   I. 


BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON,    AND    COMPANY. 

1851. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

SYLVESTER  JUDD,  JR., 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


PS 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE. 


IT  is  now  more  than  ten  years  since  "  Margaret"  was  commenced. 
To-day  is  the  revision  of  the  work  ended.  Not  without  sensibility 
has  such  a  retrospect  been  gone  through  with.  Old  acquaintances 
and  familiar  scenes  of  the  imagination  are  not  less  impressive  than 
those  of  the  actual  world.  The  author  cannot  retrace  the  gronnd  of 
these  pages  without  being  reminded  of  some  things  he  would  forget, 
and  others  that  he  is  too  fearful  of  losing.  The  book  was  written 
out  of  his  heart  and  hope.  Has  a  decade  of  years  and  experience 
vitiated  or  overset  aught  of  that  heart  and  hope  ? — Going  over  the 
book  at  this  time  is  not  precisely  like  a  call  on  old  friends ;  it  be- 
comes a  species  of  self-examination. 

In  the  result,  as  to  the  general  character  and  drift  of  the  work,  the 
author  finds  little  to  alter.  Not  that  he  could  write  just  such  a  book 
again — he  could  not  But  he  cleaves  to  the  ideas  according  to  which, 
and  the  objects  for  which,  this  was  written. 

In  the  revision  sentences  have  been  changed,  not  sentiments,  and 
the  expunging  process  has  respected  words  more  than  things. 

"Margaret"  was  never  designed  for  railroads;  it  might,  perad ven- 
ture, suit  a  canal  boat.  Rather  is  it  like  an  old-fashioned  ride  on 
horseback,  where  one  may  be  supposed  to  enjoy  leisure  for  climbing 
hills,  and  to  possess  curiosity  for  the  trifles  of  the  way. 

It  is  proper  that  some  answer  be  given  to  observations  that  have 
been  freely,  and  it  will  not  be  doubted,  kindly  bestowed  on  the  author 
and  his  labors. 

"  He  is  too  minute ;  he  seems  to  be  making  out  a  ship's  manifest, 
instead  of  telling  a  plain  story."— This  book  was  written  for  the  love 
of  the  thing,  and  each  item  has  been  introduced  with  a  love  of  it. 
Every  bird  has  been  watched,  every  flower  pursued,  every  footpath 
traversed.  No  author  can,  indeed,  expect  the  public  to  share  his  tastes 
or  join  his  recreations;  he  does  solicit  a  charitable  construction  of  his 
spirit  and  purpose. 

"  He  is  vulgar."— A  popular  tradition  declares  tastes  to  be  indispu- 


IT  AUTHOE'S    NOTE. 

table,  and  imparts  to  them  an  authority  which  belongs  only  to  revela- 
tion. We  are  inclined  to  think  there  is  a  dispute  about  them ;  and 
the  issue  may  as  w  ell  be  made  up  first  as  last.  Is  what  we  cull  com- 
mon life,  are  what  pass  for  illiterate,  uncultivated,  ignorant  people,  their 
properties  and  reminiscences,  here  in  New  England,  to  be  regarded  as 
vulgar  ? — using  the  word  in  a  certain  odious  sense.  To  take  an  instance 
from  the  following  pages — and  that  is  where  the  question  is  carried — 
is  Obed  vulgar?  We  aver  that  he  is  not  He  is  an  unrefined,  rude, 
simple  youth;  but  in  all  his  relations  to  Margaret,  in  all  the  little  part 
he  acts  in  the  scene,  he  is  courteous,  gentle,  delicate,  disinterested, 
pure.  At  least  he  seems  so  to  us.  We  may  have  failed  to  report  him 
fairly.  But,  allowing  him  to  be  such,  are  we  justified  in  pronouncing 
him  vulgar  ?"  Is  Nimrod  to  be  accounted  a  vulgar-spoken  youth  ? 

"  He  is  unequal,  grotesque,  mennaiden,  abrupt." — Here  are  in- 
volved the  same  questions  as  before,  What  is  vulgar,  and  what  re- 
fined, what  noble,  what  mean  ?  There  are  standards  of  taste  valid 
and  needful.  But  is  not  the  range  of  their  application  too  limited  ? 
May  not  rough  rocks  have  a  place  in  the  fairest  landscapes  of  nature 
or  art  ?  May  not  a  dark  pool  of  water  in  a  forest,  with  its  vegetable 
and  animal  adjuncts  mirror  the  stars  ?  Have  we  not  seen  or  heard  of 
a  cascade  that  starts,  say,  from  the  blue  of  the  skies,  pours  down  a 
precipice  of  rusty  rock,  and  terminates  in  drift-wood  and  bog  ?  Is  that 
water  bathetic  ?  These  are  questions  we  do  not  care  to  argue  here 
and  now.  Are  they  not  worthy  of  considration  ?  Have  they  no  perti- 
nence to  the  subject  in  hand  ? 

"  He  is  no  artist."— If  what  every  body  says  be  true,  and  what  almost 
every  body  says  be  almost  true,  to  this  iterated  charge,  we  ought  to 
gasp  out  a  peccavi,  and  be  silent.  But,  good  friends  all,  a  moment's 
indulgence.  May  there  not  be  a  moral  as  well  as  a  material  plot — a 
plot  of  ideas  as  well  as  of  incidents  ?  "Margaret"  is  a  tale  not  of 
outward  movement,  but  of  internal  development  An  obvious  part 
of  its  plan  is  the  three  epochs  of  the  life  of  its  principal  personage. 
Another  part  is  the  times  in  which  the  scene  lies.  Rose  belongs  to 
the  plot  of  the  book,  so  does  the  Indian.  Master  Elliman  has  been 
called  a  sort  of  a  diluted  imitation  of  Dominie  Sampson !  The  plot 
of  the  book  involved  this,  that  while  Margaret  grew  up  in,  or  contigu- 
ous to,  a  religions  and  civilized  community,  she  should  remain  for  the 
most  part  unaffected  by  these  influences ;  yet  that  she  should  not 
mature  in  ignorance,  but  should  receive  quite  an  amount  of  a  species 
of  erudition.  To  effect  this  the  Master  is  introduced.  The  manage- 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE.  T 

ment  of  this  part  of  the  tale,  it  need  not  be  said,  was  one  of  the  most 
difficult  problems  the  author  had  to  encounter.  To  the  general  thread 
of  the  drama  a  variety  of  things  are  attached,  not  one  of  which,  in  the 
main,  is  not  conceived  to  be  tributary  to  the  gradual  evolution  of  the 
whole.  The  purely  material  accessories  of  the  story  being  deemed 
quite  insubordinate,  are  thrown  in  comers  by  themselves. 

The  book  takes  our  country  as  it  emerges  from  the  Revolution,  and 
does  not  bring  it  down  to  what  now  is,  but  carries  it  up,  or  a  portion 
of  it,  to  what  it  is  conceived  should  be ;  and  the  final  denouement  may 
be  found  in  the  last  Part.  In  all  this  is  system,  arrangement,  prece- 
dent, effect,  and  due  relation  of  things.  We  have  wished  herein  to 
be  artistical ;  certainly  our  feelings  are  not  whimsical,  neither  is  our 
method  governed  by  any  conscious  caprice.  How  far  we  have  suc- 
ceeded it  is  not  for  us  to  say.  We  would  thank  certain  ones,  assayers 
of  literature,  at  least  to  consider  what  we  have  attempted  to  do. 

To  those  who  have  been  glad  at  what  the  author  has  wntten  he  ex- 
tends the  hope  that  they  may  never  regret  their  gladness. 

Those  that  disrelish  his  productions  he  knows  can  find  things 
enough  in  the  bookstores  to  their  liking ;  and  he  is  sufficiently  gen- 
erons  to  wish  them  joy  in  whatever  line  of  reading  their  fancies  or 
feelings  may  adopt. 

Riverside,  Augusta,  May  12,  1851. 


VDT  TIM?    T 

vUiiUMlL  1. 


PART  I  __  CHILDHOOD. 
/ 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  I.—  The  Infant  Margaret  introduced  as  in  Phantas- 

magorical  Perspective          ........  5 

CHAPTER  IL—  The  Child  Margaret  at  Home  ...  9 

CHAPTER  HI.  —  Some  Account  of  her  Family  and  her  Neighbor 

Obed  ..........          16 

CHAPTER  IV.  —  The  Widow  Wright     .....          24 

CHAPTER  V.  —  The  Bee  Hunt,  with  an  Introduction  to  Master 

Elliman        ..........          29 

CHAPTER  VI.—  Livingston     .......         39 

CHAPTER  VTT.  —  Ketrospective—  Taking  the  Reader  into  the 

Times  of  the  Revolution     .......         56 

CHAPTER  VHI—  Nimrod,  Margaret's  Brother,  and  his  Lively 

Ways  ..........          64 

CHAPTER  IX.  —  Margaret  Practices  Divination  with  the  Witch- 

hazle  ..........         75 

CHAPTER  X.—  New  England  Thanksgiving          ...         80 
CHAPTER  XL—  Varieties  of  Nimrod     .....         92 

CHAPTER  XH.—  The  Story  of  Gottfried  Buckmann  and  Jane 

Girardeau  .........          99 

CHAPTER  XIII.  —  Training  Day    ......        123 

CHAPTER  XIV.—  The  Sabbath,  and  how  Margaret  went  to 

Church  for  the  first  time.—  Her  Dream  of  Jesus  136 


riii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XV.— A  Night  at  the  Still.— Joyce  Dooley,  the  For- 
tune Teller 175 

CHAPTER  XVI.— Margaret  Lost  in  the  Woods.— What  Interest 
was  felt  for  her  by  Every  Body 187 

CHAPTER  XVIL— Winter 215 

PART  II.  — YOUTH. 

CHAPTER  I. — Spring. — Rose. — Margaret  keeps  School.  —  A 

Funeral— The  Free  Masons 247 

CHAPTER  IL— Margaret— Mr.  Evelyn.— Christ    ...       297 


PART  I. 


CHILDHOOD, 


PART  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PHANTASMAGORICAL — INTRODUCTORY. 

WE  behold  a  child  of  eight  or  ten  months;  it  has 
brown  curly  hair,  dark  eyes,  fair  conditioned  features,  a 
health-glowing  cheek,  and  well-shaped  limbs.  "Who  is  it? 
whose  is  it?  what  is  it?  where  is  it?  It  is  in  the  centre 
of  fantastic  light,  and  only  a  dimly-revealed  form  appears. 
It  may  be  Queen  Victoria's  or  Sally  Twig's.  It  is  God's 
own  child,  as  all  children  are.  The  blood  of  Adam  and 
Eve,  through  how  many  soever  channels  diverging,  runs  in 
its  veins,  and  the  spirit  of  the  Eternal,  that  blows  every 
where,  has  animated  its  soul.  It  opens  its  eyes  upon  us, 
stretches  out  its  hands  to  us,  as  all  children  do.  Can  you 
love  it  ?  It  may  be  the  heir  of  a  throne,  does  it  interest 
you ;  or  of  a  milking  stool,  do  not  despise  it.  It  is  a  mira- 
cle of  the  All-working,  it  is  endowed  by  the  All-gifted. 
Smile  upon  it,  it  will  smile  you  back  again ;  prick  it> 
it  will  cry.  Where  does  it  belong?  in  what  zone  or 
climate?  on  what  hill?  to  what  plain?  It  may  have 
been  born  on  the  Thames  or  the  Amazon,  the  Hoan  Ho  or 
the  Mississippi. 

The  vision  deepens.     Green  grass  appears  beneath  the 

child.     It  may,  after  all,  be  Queen  Victoria's  in  Windsor 

Park,  or  Sally  Twig's  on  Little  Pucker  Island.     The  sun 

now  shines  upon  it,  a  blue  sky  breaks  over  it,  an4  the  wind 

1* 


6  MARGARET. 

rustles  its  hair.  Sun,  sky,  and  wind  are  common  to  Arctic 
and  Antartic  regions,  and  belong  to  every  meridian.  A 
black-cap  is  seen  to  fly  over  it ;  and  this  bird  is  said  by 
naturalists  to  be  found  in  both  hemispheres.  A  dog,  or  the 
whelp  of  a  dog,  a  young  pup,  crouches  near  it,  makes  a 
caracol  backwards,  frisks  away,  and  returns  again.  The 
child  is  pleased,  throws  out  its  arms,  and  laughs  right 
merrily. 

As  we  now  look  at  the  child,  we  can  hardly  tell  to  which 
of  the  five  races  it  belongs;  whether  it  be  a  Caucasian, 
Mongolian,  American,  Ethiopian,  or  Malay.  Each  child  on 
this  terraqueous  ball,  whether  its  nose  be  aquiline,  its  eyes 
black  and  small,  its  cheek  bones  prominent,  its  lips  large,  or 
its  head  narrow ;  whether  its  hue  be  white,  olive,  or  jet,  is 
of  God's  creating,  and  is  delighted  with  the  bright  summer 
light,  a  bed  of  grass,  the  wind,  birds,  and  puppies;  and 
smiles  in  the  eyes  of  all  beholders.  It  it  God's  child  still, 
and  its  mother's.  It  is  curiously  and  wonderfully  made ; 
the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty  hath  given  it  understand- 
ing. It  will  look  after  God,  its  Maker,  by  how  many  soever 
names  he  may  be  called;  it  will  aspire  to  the  Infinite, 
whether  that  Infinite  be  expressed  in  Bengalee  or  Arabic, 
English  or  Chinese  ;  it  will  seek  to  know  truth  ;  it  will  long 
to  be  loved  ;  it  will  sin  and  be  miserable,  if  it  has  none  to 
«are  for  it ;  it  will  die. 

Let  us  give  it  to  Queen  Victoria.  "  No,"  says  Sally 
Twig,  "  it  is  mine."  "  No,"  says  the  Empress  Isabella, 
"  it  is  destined  to  the  crown  of  Castile."  "  Not  so  shure 
of  that,  me  hearty ;  it  is  Teddy  O'Rourke's  own  Phelim." 
"  Ha,"  laughs  aTahitian,  "  I  left  it  playing  under  the  palm 
trees."  "  What  presumption  !"  exclaims  Mrs.  Morris,  "  it 
is  our  Frances  Maria,  whom  the  servant  is  airing  on  the 
Common."  "  I  just  bore  it  in  my  own  arms  through  the 
cypresses,"  observes  Osceola,  quietly. 


MAKQARET.  7 

It  seems  to  be  in  pain.  "  Mein  Gott !  gehet  eilend  bin." 
"  Poor  Frances  Maria !  "  "  Paneeweh  htouwenaunuh  neen- 
maumtehkeh  ! "  "  Per  amor  del  Cielo  !  "  "  Jesus  mind 
Teddy's  Phelim."  "  O  Nhaw  nddg  erm  devishd  ! "  "  Wse- 
sucks  !  my  wee  bonny  wean,  she'll  die  while  ye  are  bleth- 
erin  here."  "  Bismillahi ! "  "  Ma  chere  enfante  ! "  "  Alohi, 
Alohi ! "  "  Ora  pro  nobis ! "  "  None  of  your  whidds,  dub 
the  giggle,  and  take  the  bantling  up."  "  Highder  davran 
under ! "  —  What  a  babel  of  exclamations !  What  mani- 
fold articulations  of  affection  !  —  How  the  motherly  heart 
bursts  forth  in  a  thousand  tongues !  But  hold,  good  friends, 
may  be  the  child  does  not  belong  to  you. 

The  scene  advances.  Two  hands  are  seen  thrust  down 
towards  it,  and  now  it  smiles  again.  Near  by  discovers 
itself  a  peach-tree.  Where  does  that  belong  ?  Not  like 
the  black-cap  every  where.  In  the  grass  gleams  the  golden 
eye  of  a  dandelion ;  the  skin  of  the  child  settles  into  a 
Caucasian  whiteness,  and  its  fat  fingers  are  making  for  the 
flower.  Be  not  disappointed,  my  friends,  your  children  still 
live  and  smile  ;  let  this  one  live  and  smile  too.  Go,  Mon- 
golian, Ethiopian,  American,  or  Malay,  and  take  your  child 
to  your  bosom,  and  it  will  remind  you  of  this,  since  all 
children  are  a  good  deal  alike. 

Now  the  child  crawls  towards  the  peach-tree.  Those  two 
hands,  that  may  belong  to  its  brother,  set  the  child  on  its 
feet  by  the  side  of  the  tree,  as  it  were  measuring  their  heights, 
which  are  found  to  be  the  same.  Yellow  and  brown  chick- 
ens appear  on  the  grass,  and  run  under  the  low  mallows  and 
smart-weed.  A  sheet  of  water  is  seen  in  the  distance, 
spotted  with  green  islands.  Forest  trees  burst  forth  in  the 
rim  of  the  picture  —  butternuts,  beeches,  maples,  pines.  A 
sober-faced  boy,  seven  or  eight  years  old,  to  whom  the  two 
hands  are  seen  to  belong,  sits  down,  and  with  a  fife  pipes  to 


8  MARGARET. 

the  child,  who  manifests  strong  joy  at  the  sound.  A  man 
in  a  three-cornered  hat  and  wig,  with  nankeen  small-clothes, 
and  paste  buckles,  takes  the  child  in  his  arms.  Where  is 
the  child?  A  log  cabin  appears  ;  a  woman  in  a  blue  striped 
long-short  and  yellow  skirt  comes  to  the  door.  An  Anglo 
Saxon  voice  is  heard.  If  you  were  to  look  into  the  cabin 
or  house,  you  would  discover  a  loom  and  spinning-wheels, 
and  behind  it  a  larger  boy  making  shingles,  and  somewhere 
about  a  jolly-faced  man  drinking  rum.  The  woman,  ad- 
dressing the  first  boy  as  Chilion,  tells  him  to  bring  the  child 
into  the  house. 

This  child  we  will  inform  you  is  MARGARET,  of  whom  we 
have  many  things  to  say,  and  whom  we  hope  to  reveal  more 
perfectly  to  you.  She  is  in  the  town  of  Livingston,  in  that 
section  of  the  United  States  of  America  known  as  New 
England.  And  yet,  so  far  as  this  book  is  concerned,  she  is 
for  you  all  as  much  as  if  she  were  your  own  child  ;  and  if  you 
cared  any  thing  about  her  when  you  did  not  know  her,  we 
desire  that  your  regards  may  not  subside  when  you  do 
know  her,  even  if  she  be  not  your  own  child  ;  and  we  dedi- 
cate this  memoir  of  her  to  ALL  who  are  interested  in  her, 
and  care  to  read  about  her.  In  the  mean  time,  if  you  are 
willing,  we  will  lose  sight  of  her  for  seven  or  eight  years, 
and  present  her  in  a  more  tangible  form,  as  she  appeared 
at  the  end  of  that  period. 


MARGARET. 


CHAPTER   II. 

WORK   AND    BEAUTY. AN    IMPRESSION  OF   THE    REAL. 

THE  child  Margaret  sits  in  the  door  of  her  house,  on  a 
low  stool,  with  a  small  wheel,  winding  spools,  in  our  ver- 
nacular, "  quilling,"  for  her  mother,  who,  in  a  room  near 
by,  is  mounted  in  a  loom,  weaving  and  smoking ;  the  fumes 
of  her  pipe  mingling  with  the  whizz  of  the  shuttle,  the  jar- 
ring of  the  lathe,  and  the  clattering  of  treadles.  From  a 
windle  the  thread  is  conducted  to  the  quills,  and  buzz,  buzz 
goes  Margaret's  wheel,  while  a  gray  squirrel,  squatted  on 
her  shoulder,  inspects  the  operation  with  profound 
gravity. 

"  Look  up  the  chimney  child,"  says  the  mother,  "  and 
see  what  time  it  is." 

"  I  don't  know  how/'  replies  Margaret. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  get  the  Master  to  learn  you  your 
a  b  c's  in  this  matter,"  rejoined  the  mother.  "  When  the 
sun  gets  in  one  inch,  it  is  ten  o'clock  ;  when  it  reaches  the 
stone  that  bouges  out  there,  it  is  dinner  time.  How  many 
quills  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  The  basket  is  full,  and  the  box  besides.  Chilion  said 
I  might  go  and  sail  with  him." 

"  We  have  a  great  deal  to  do.  Miss  Gisborne's  flannel 
is  promised  the  last  of  the  week,  and  it  must  be  drawn  in 
to-morrow.  I  want  you  to  clean  the  skans ;  there  is  a 
bunch  of  lucks  down  cellar,  bring  them  up ;  get  some  plan- 
tain and  dandelion  on  the  smooth  for  greens;  you  must 


10  MARGARET. 

pick  over  those  beans ;  put  some  kindlers  under  the  pot ; 
then  you  may  go." 

"  I  had  a  dream  last  night." 

"  Hush  !  You  are  always  dreaming.  I  am  afraid  you 
will  come  to  a  bad  end." 

"  It  was  a  pretty  dream." 

"  I  can't  help  your  dreams  ;  here,  pick  up  this." 

The  woman  had  broken  a  thread  in  the  chain,  and  while 
Margaret  was  helping  repair  the  accident,  she  looked  into 
her  mother's  face,  and,  as  if  following  out  her  thoughts, 
said,  "  A  woman  came  near  to  me,  she  dropped  tears  upon 
me,  she  stood  in  the  clouds." 

"I  can't  stop  to  hear  you  now,"  replied  her  mother. 
"  Run  and  do  what  I  have  told  you." 

When  Margaret  had  finished  the  several  chores,  she  went 
to  the  Pond.  She  was  barefooted  and  barearmed.  She 
wore  a  brown  linen  gown  or  tunic,  open  in  front,  a  crimson 
skirt,  a  blue  checked  apron,  and  for  head  covering  a  green 
rush  hat.  By  a  narrow  foot-path,  winding  through  shrub- 
bery and  brambles,  and  defiling  along  the  foot  of  a  steep 
hill  that  rose  near  the  house,  she  came  to  the  margin  of  the 
water.  Chilion,  her  brother,  who  was  at  work  with  a  piece 
of  glass,  smoothing  a  snow-white  bass  wood  paddle,  for  a 
little  bark  canoe  he  had  made  her,  saw  Margaret  approach 
with  evident  pleasure,  yet  received  her  in  the  quietest  pos- 
sible manner,  as  she  leaped  and  laughed  towards  him.  He 
asked  her  if  she  remembered  the  names  of  the  flowers  ; 
and  while  he  was  finishing  the  paddle,  she  went  along  the 
shore  to  gather  them.  The  Pond  covered  several  hun- 
dreds of  acres,  its  greatest  diameter  measured  about  a  mile 
and  a  half;  its  outline  was  irregular,  here  divided  by  sharp 
rocks,  there  retreating  into  shaded  coves  ;  and  on  its  face 
appeared  three  or  four  small  islands,  bearing  trees  and  low 


•*>  * 


WORK   AND    BEAUTY.  11 

bushes.  Its  banks,  if  not  really  steep,  had  a  bluff  and  pre- 
cipitous aspect  from  the  tall  forest  that  girdled  it  about. 
The  region  was  evidently  primitive,  and  the  child,  as  she 
went  along,  trod  on  round  smooth  pebbles  of  white  and  rose 
quartz,  dark  hornblende,  greenstone,  and  an  occasional 
fragment  of  trap,  the  results  of  the  diluvial  ocean,  if  any 
body  can  tell  when  or  what  that  was.  In  piles,  among  the 
stones,  lay  quivering  and  ever  accumulating  masses  of 
fleece-like  and  fox-colored  foam;  there  were  also  the  empty 
shells  af  various  kinks  of  mollusks.  She  climbed  over  the 
white  peeled  trunks  of  hemlocks,  that  had  fallen  into 
the  water,  or  drifted  to  the  shore  ;  she  trod  through  beds  of 
fine  silver-gray  sand,  and  in  the  shallow  edge  of  the  Pond 
she  walked  on  a  hard  even  bottom  of  the  same,  which  the 
action  of  the  waves  had  beaten  into  a  smooth  shining  floor. 
She  discovered  flowers  which  her  brother  told  her  were 
horehound,  skull-caps,  and  Indian  tobacco ;  she  picked 
small  green  apples  that  disease  had  formed  on  the  leaves  of 
the  willows ;  and  beautiful  velvety  crimson  berries  from 
the  black  alder. 

When  all  was  ready,  she  got  into  her  canoe,  while  her 
brother  led  the  way  in  a  boat  of  his  own.  With  due 
instructions  in  the  management  of  the  paddle,  she  succeed- 
ed tolerably  well.  Chilion  had  often  taken  her  on  the 
water,  and  she  was  not  much  afraid.  The  pond  was  com- 
monly reported  to  have  no  bottom,  and  it  possessed  the 
minds  of  the  people  with  a  sort  of  indefinable  awe :  but 
this  Margaret  was  too  young  to  feel ;  she  took  manifest 
delight  in  skimming  across  that  dark,  deep  mystery. 
She  toppled  somewhat,  her  canoe  shook  and  tilted,  but  on 
it  went ;  there  was  a  thin  wake,  a  slight  rustle  of  the  water; 
her  brother  kept  near  her,  and  she  enjoyed  the  fearful  pas- 
time. Reaching  the  opposite  shore,  Chilion  drew  up  his 


12  MARGARET. 

boat,  and  went  to  a  rock,  where  he  sat  down  to  fish  with  a 
long  pole.  Margaret  turned  into  a  recess  where  the 
trees  and  rocks  darkened  the  water,  and  the  surface 
lay  calm  and  clear.  The  coolness  of  the  spot  was 
inviting,  birds  were  merry-making  in  the  underwood, 
and  deep  in  the  water  she  saw  the  blue  sky  and  the 
white  clouds.  "  That  looks  like  her,"  she  said,  calling 
to  mind  her  dream.  She  urged  her  canoe  up  a  shelv- 
ing rock,  where  she  took  off  her  hat  and  apron ;  and, 
the  process  of  disrobing  being  speedily  done,  waded  into 
the  water.  She  said,  "  I  will  go  down  to  the  bottom,  I 
will  tread  on  the  clouds.'1  She  sunk  to  her  neck,  she 
plunged  her  head  under;  she  could  discover  nothing  but  the 
rocky  or  smooth  sandy  bed  of  the  pond.  Was  she  disap- 
pointed? A  sand-piper  glided  weet  weeting  along  the 
shore ;  she  ran  after  it,  but  could  not  catch  it ;  she  sat 
down  and  sozzled  her  feet  in  the  foam ;  she  saw  a  blue-jay 
washing  itself,  ducking  its  crest,  and  hustling  the  water 
with  its  wings,  and  she  did  the  same.  She  got  running 
mosses,  twin-flower  vines,  and  mountain  laurel  blossoms, 
which  she  wound  about  her  neck  and  waist,  and  pushing  off" 
in  her  canoe,  looked  into  the  water  as  a  mirror.  Her  dark 
clear  hazle  eyes,  her  fair  white  skin,  the  leaves  and  flowers, 
made  a  pretty  vision.  She  smiled  and  was  smiled  on  in 
turn  ;  she  held  out  her  hand,  which  was  reciprocated  by 
the  fair  spirit  below  ;  she  called  her  own  name,  the  rocks 
and  woods  answered  ;  she  looked  around,  but  saw  noth- 
ing. Had  she  feara  or  hopes  ?  It  may  have  been  only 
childish  sport.  "I  will  jump  to  that  girl,"  she  said,  "I 
will  tumble  the  clouds."  She  sprang  from  the  canoe,  and 
dropped  quietly,  softly,  on  the  bottom ;  she  had  driven  her 
companion  away,  and  as  she  came  up,  her  garlands  broke 
and  floated  off  in  the  ripples.  Wiping  herself  on  a  coarse 


WORK   AND   BEAUTY.  13 

towel  her  mother  wove  for  her,  see  dressed,  and  went  back 
to  her  brother.  A  horn  rang  through  the  woods.  "  Din- 
ner is  ready,"  he  said  ;  "  we  must  go." 

Returning,  they  came  to  the  greensward  in  front  of  the 
house,  where  was  a  peach-tree. 

"  I  remember,"  said  her  brother,  "  when  you  and  that 
were  of  the  same  size  ;  now  it  shades  you.  It  is  just  as  old 
as  you  are.  How  full  of  fruit  it  is." 

"  How  did  it  grow  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  I  put  a  peach-stone  in  the  ground  one  winter,"  replied 
her  brother,  "  and  it  sprouted  in  the  spring." 

"  I  was  an  acorn  once,"  rejoined  the  child,  "  so  Obed  says, 
and  why  did'nt  I  grow  up  an  oak-tree?  " 

A  dog  bounding  towards  them  interrupted  the  conversa- 
tion. This  animal  had  enormous  proportions,  and  looked 
like  a  cross  of  wolf  and  mastiff ;  his  color  was  a  brindled 
black,  his  head  resembled  the  ideas  we  have  of  Cerberus, 
his  legs  were  thick  and  strong,  and  he  was  called  Bull.  Fol- 
lowing the  dog,  approached  the  jolly-faced  father  of  Marga- 
ret from  the  barn,  where  he  had  been  swingling  flax  ;  his 
hat,  face,  and  clothes  were  dangling  and  netted  with  tow 
and  whitish  down,  but  you  could  see  him  laugh  through  the 
veil  ;  and  the  glow  of  his  red  face  would  make  you  laugh. 
He  caught  Margaret  and  set  her  on  the  dog,  who  galloped 
away  with  his  load.  They  encountered  her  older  brother 
coming  in  from  the  woods,  where  he  had  been  burning  a 
piece  ;  his  frock  crusted  with  ashes,  his  face  smirched  with 
coals.  He  spoke  tartly  to  Margaret,  and  contrived  to  trip 
the  dog  as  he  ran  by,  and  throw  his  sister  to  the  ground. 

"  Don't  do  so,"  said  she. 

"  Let  Bull  alone,"  he  replied,  speaking  in  a  blubbering, 
washy  manner,  which  we  cannot  transcribe.  "  You'll  spile 
him ;  would  you  make  a  goslin  of  him?  Here's  your  sticks 

VOL.  i.  2 


14  MARGAKET. 

right  in  the  track ; "  saying  which  he  scattered  with  his  foot 
a  little  paling  she  had  constructed  about  a  dandelion.  She 
must  needs  cry ;  the  dog  went  to  her,  looked  in  her  eyes, 
lapped  her  tears,  and  she  put  her  arms  about  his  neck. 
Her  brother,  who  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  major  domo  in 
the  family,  whistled  the  dog  away,  and  ordered  his  sister 
into  the  house  to  help  her  mother. 

Her  father  and  older  brother  wore  checked  shirts,  and  a 
sort  of  brown  tow  trousers  known  at  the  time — these  things 
happened  some  years  ago — as  skills ;  they  were  short,  .reach- 
ing just  below  the  knee,  and  very  large,  being  a  full  half 
yard  broad  at  the  bottom;  and,  without  braces  or  gallows, 
were  kept  up  by  the  hips,  sailor  fashion.  Neither  wore  any 
coat,  vest,  or  neck-cloth.  Her  father  had  on  what  was 
once  a  three-cornered  hat,  but  the  corners  were  now  reduced 
to  loose  ragged  flaps ;  a  leather  apron  completed  his  suit 
Her  brother  had  a  cap  made  of  wood-chuck  skin,  steeple- 
shaped,  the  hair  of  which  was  pretty  well  rubbed  off.  They 
went  to  the  cistern  on  the  back  side  of  the  house,  washed 
and  rinsed  themselves  for  dinner.  The  father  discovered 
a  gamesome  expression  of  face,  shining  scirrous  skin,  and 
a  plump  ruby  head  ;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  cheeks 
whealed  and  puffed,  and  through  his  red  lips  his  laughter 
exposed  a  suite  of  fair  white  teeth  ;  his  head  was  nearly 
bald,  and  the  crown  showed  smooth  and  glairy ;  and  under 
the  thin  flossy  wreath  of  hair  that  invested  his  temples,  you 
would  not  fail  to  notice  that  one  of  his  ears  was  gone. 
Her  brother  had  a  more  catonian  look  ;  thick  locks  of  coarse 
black  hair  kept  well  with  his  russet,  sunburnt  face,  and  his 
lips,  if  by  nothing  else,  were  swollen  with  large  quids  of 
tobacco. 

The  dinner-table,  appropriate  to  the  place  in  which  it 
was  set,  consisted  of  boards  laid  on  a  movable  trestle  with- 
out a  cloth.  A  large  wooden  dish  or  trencher  contained, 


WORK   AND    BEAUTY.  15 

flummery-like,  in  one  mass,  the  entire  substance  of  the 
meal: — pork,  potatoes,  greens,  beans.  There  were  no  suita 
of  knives  and  forks,  and  the  family  helped  themselves  on 
wooden  plates,  with  cuttoes.  A  large  silver  tankard 
curiously  embossed,  and  bearing  some  armorial  signets, 
formed  an  exception  to  the  general  aspect  of  things,  and 
looked  quite  baronially  down  on  its  serf-like  companions. 
This  filled  with  cider  constituted  their  drink.  They  sat  on 
blocks  of  wood  and  rag-bottom  chairs.  Margaret  occupied 
a  corner  of  the  table  near  her  younger  brother  Chilion,  and 
had  a  cherry  plate  with  a  wolfs  bone  knife  and  fork  he 
made  for  her.  They  all  ate  heartily  and  enjoyed  their 
meal.  After  dinner,  Chilion  went  with  his  gun  into  the 
woods,  the  father  and  elder  brother  returned  to  their 
respective  employments,  her  mother  resumed  her  smoking 
and  weaving,  and  Margaret  had  a  new  stint  at  quilling. 


16  MARGARET. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LOCALITIES     DESCRIBED. — THE     FAMILY     MORE     PARTICCLARLT 
ENUMERATED. — OBED    INTRODUCED. 

THE  house  where  Margaret  lived,  of  a  type  common  in 
the  early  history  of  New  England,  and  still  seen  in  the 
regions  of  the  West,  was  constructed  of  round  logs  sealed 
with  mud  and  clay  ;  the  roof  was  a  thatch  composed  of 
white-birch  twigs,  sweet-flag  and  straw  wattled  together, 
and  overlaid  with  a  slight  battening  of  boards  ;  from  the 
ridge  sprang  a  low  stack  of  stones,  indicating  the  chimney- 
top.  Glass  windows  there  were  none,  and  in  place  thereof 
swung  wooden  shutters  fastened  on  the  inside  by  strings. 
The  house  was  divided  by  the  chimney  into  two  principal 
apartments,  one  being  the  kitchen  or  commons,  the  other  a 
work  shop.  In  the  former  were  prominently  a  turn-up 
bed  used  by  the  heads  of  the  family,  and  a  fireplace  ;  the 
last,  built  of  slabs  of  rough  granite,  was  colossal  in  height, 
width,  and  depth  ;  stone  splinters  filled  the  office  of  and- 
irons. A  handle  of  wood  thrust  into  the  socket  of  a  broken 
spade  supplied  the  place  of  a  shovel.  The  room  was  neither 
boarded  nor  plastered  ;  a  varnish  of  smoke  from  tobacco 
pipes  and  pine-knots  possibly  answering  in  stead  ;  and  the 
naked  stones  of  the  chimney  front  were  blackened  and 
polished  by  occasional  effusions  of  steam  and  smoke  from 
the  fire.  The  room  also  contained  the  table-board,  block, 
and  rag-bottom  chairs,  and  little  stool  for  Margaret  before 
mentioned.  In  one  corner  stood  a  twig  broom.  On 
pegs  in  the  log,  hung  sundry  articles  of  wearing  apparel  ; 


LOCALITIES.  17 

sustained  by  crotched  sticks  nailed  to  the  sleepers  above, 
were  a  rifle  and  one  or  two  muskets  ;  a  swing  shelf  was 
loaded  with  shot-pouches,  bullet-moulds,  powder-horns, 
and  fishing  tackle,  &c.  ;  on  the  projecting  stones  of  the 
chimney  were  sundry  culinary  articles,  and  conspicuously 
a  one-gallon  wooden  rum-keg,  and  the  silver  tankard.  In 
the  room,  which  we  should  say  was  quite  capacious,  hung 
two  cages,  one  for  a  robin,  the  other  with  a  revolving  apart- 
ment for  a  gray  squirrel,  called  Dick.  You  would  not  also 
omit  to  notice  a  violin  in  a  green  baize  bag,  suspended  on 
the  walls,  which  belonged  to  Chilion,  and  was  an  important 
household  article.  On  a  post,  near  the  chimney,  were 
fastened  some  leaves  of  a  book,  which  you  would  find  to  be 
torn  from  the  statistical  chapters  of  the  Old  Testament. 
The  floor  of  the  room  was  warped  in  every  direction, 
slivered  and  gaping  at  the  joints  ;  and,  being  made  of 
knotty  boards,  the  softer  portions  of  which  were  worn  down, 
these  knots  stood  in  ridges  and  hillocks  all  over  the  apart- 
ment. 

The  workshop,  of  smaller  dimensions,  was  similar,  in  its 
general  outline,  to  the  kitchen  ;  it  contained  a  loom,  a  kit 
where  the  father  of  Margaret  sometimes  made  shoes,  a 
common  reel,  hand  reel,  a  pair  of  swifts,  blades,  or  windle, 
a  large,  small,  and  quilling  wheel,  a  dye  tub,  with  yarn  of 
all  colors  hanging  on  the  walls.  The  garret  was  divided 
by  the  chimney  in  a  manner  similar  to  the  rooms  below  ; 
on  one  side  Margaret  slept,  and  the  boys  on  the  other ;  her 
bed  consisted  simply  of  a  mattrass  of  beech  leaves  spread  on 
the  floor,  with  tow  and  wool  coverlids,  and  coarse  linen 
sheets.  The  ascent  to  this  upper  story  was  by  a  ladder. 

In  rear  of  the  kitchen  was  a  shed,  a  rough  frame  of  slabs 
and  poles.  Here  were  a  draw-shave,  beetle  and  wedges, 
hog  and  geese  yokes,  barking  irons,  a  brush-bill,  fox-traps, 


18  THE    FAMILr. 

frows  and  sap-buckets ;  this  also  was  the  dormitory  of  the 
hens.  At  one  corner  of  the  shed  was  a  half-barrel  cistern, 
into  which  water  was  brought  by  bark  troughs  from  the  hill 
near  by,  forming  an  ever  flowing,  ever  musical,  cool  bright 
stream,  passing  off  in  a  runnel  shaded  by  weeds  and  grass. 
On  all  sides  of  the  house,  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year, 
might  be  seen  the  skins  of  various  animals  drying  ;  the 
flesh  side  out,  and  fastened  at  the  extremities  ;  foxes, 
wood-chucks,  martins,  raccoons,  and  sometimes  even  bears 
and  wolves  ;  the  many-colored  tails  of  which,  pendant,  had 
an  ornamental  appearance. 

The  house  was  on  the  west  side  of  the  road,  and  fronted 
the  south.  Across  what  might  have  been  a  yard,  saving 
there  were  no  fences,  was  a  butternut  tree — the  Butternut 
par  excellence — having  great  extension  of  limb,  and  beauti- 
ful drooping  willow-like  foliage.  Beyond  lay  the  eastern 
extremity  of  the  Pond.  On  the  north  was  a  small  gar  !en 
enclosed  by  a  rude  brush  hedge.  On  the  east  side  of  the 
road  stood  a  log-barn,  covered  with  thatch,  and  supported 
in  part  by  the  trunks  of  two  trees. 

The  name  of  the  family  whose  residence  we  have  explored 
was  Hart,  and  it  consisted  essentially  of  six  members  ;  Mr. 
and  Mrs,  Hart,  their  three  sons,  Nimrod,  Hash,  and  Chilion, 
'  aiul  Margaret.  We  should  remark  that  the  heads  of  this 
house  were  never  or  rarely  known  by  their  proper  names. 
Mr.  Hart  at  some  period  had  received  the  sobriquet 
of  Head  and  Pluck,  by  the  latter  part  of  which  he  was 
generally  designated  ;  his  wife  was  more  commonly  known 
as  Brown  Moll.  Mr.  Hart  had  also  a  fancy  for  giving  his 
children  scriptural  names  ;  his  first-born  he  called  Nimrod  ; 
his  second,  Maharshalalhashbaz,  abbreviated  into  Hash  ;  and 
for  his  next  son  he  chose  that  of  Chilion.  It  must  not  be 
thought  he  had  any  reverence  for  the  Bible  ;  his  con- 


MARGARET.  19 

duct  would  belie  such  a  supposition.  He  may  have  been 
superstitious  ;  if  it  were  so,  that  certainly  was  the  extent  of 
his  devotion.  The  subject  of  this  Memoir  was  sometimes 
called  after  her  mother,  Mary  or  Molly,  and  from  regard  to 
one  long  since  deceased  she  had  received  the  name  of 
Margaret.  Her  father  and  mother  were  fond  of  contradict- 
ing each  other,  especially  in  matters  of  small  moment,  and 
while  the  latter  called  her  Margaret  or  Peggy,  the  former 
was  wont  to  address  her  as  Molly. 

Nimrod,  the  oldest  son,  was  absent  from  home  most  of 
the  year  ;  how  employed,  we  shall  have  occasion  hereafter 
to  notice.  Hash  worked  the  farm,  if  farm  it  might  be  called, 
burnt  coal  in  the  fall,  made  sugar  in  the  spring,  drank, 
smoked,  and  teased  Margaret  the  rest  of  the  time.  Chilion 
fished,  hunted,  laid  traps  for  foxes,  drowned  out  wood- 
chucks  ;  he  was  also  the  artisan  of  the  family,  and  with 
such  instruments  as  he  could  command,  constructed  sap- 
buckets  and  spouts,  hencoops,  sleds,  trellises,  &c.  He  was 
very  fond  of  music,  and  played  on  the  violin  and  fife  ;  in 
this  also  he  instructed  Margaret,  whom  he  found  a  ready 
pupil  ;  taught  her  the  language  of  music,  sang  songs  with 
her;  he  also  told  her  the  common  names  of  many  birds  and 
flowers.  He  was  somewhat  diffident,  reserved,  or  whatever 
it  might  be  ;  and  while  he  manifested  a  deep  affection  for 
his  sister,  he  never  expressed  himself  very  freely  to  her. 
Mr.  Hart,  or  Pluck,  if  we  give  him  the  name  by  which  he 
was  commonly  known,  helped  Hash  on  the  farm,  broke 
flax,  made  shoes,  a  trade  he  prosecuted  in  an  itinerating 
manner  from  house  to  house,  "  whipping  the  cat,"  as  it  was 
termed,  and  drank  excessively,  Mrs.  Hart,  or  Brown 
Moll,  carded,  spun,  colored  and  wove,  for  herself  and  more 
for  others,  nipped  and  beaked  her  husband,  drank  and 
smoked.  At  the  present  time  she  was  about  forty-five  <yr 


20  THE    FAMILY. 

fifty  ;  she  had  seen  care  and  trouble,  and  seemed  almost 
broken  down  alike  by  her  habits  and  her  misfortunes.  She 
was  wrinkled,  faded  and  gray  ;  her  complexion  was  sallow, 
dark  and  dry  ;  her  expression,  if  it  were  not  positively 
stern,  was  far  from  being  amiable  ;  she  was  a  patient 
weaver,  impatient  with  every  thing  else.  Her  dress  was  a 
blue-striped  linen  short-gown,  wrapper,  or  long-short,  a 
coarse  yellow  petticoat  and  checked  apron  ;  short  grizzly 
hairs  bristled  in  all  directions  over  her  head.  If  in  this 
family  you  could  detect  some  trace  of  refinement,  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  discriminate  its  origin  or  to  say  how  far 
removed  it  might  be  from  unmixed  vulgarity. 

The  term  Pond,  applied  to  the  spot  where  this  family 
dwelt,  comprised  not  only  the  sheet  of  water  therein  situated, 
but  also  the  entire  neighborhood.  In  the  records  of  the 
town  the  place  was  denominated  the  West  District.  Some- 
times it  was  called  the  Head,  or  Indian's  Head,  from  a  hill 
thereon  to  which  we  shall  presently  refer,  and  the  inhab- 
itants were  called  Indians  from  this  circumstance.  An 
almost  unbroken  forest  bounded  the  vision  and  skirted  the 
abode  of  this  family.  They  had  only  one  neighbor,  a 
widow  lady,  who  resided  at  the  north  about  l>alf  a  mile. 
A  road  extending  across  the  place  from  north  to  south 
terminated  in  the  latter  direction,  about  the  same  distance 
below  Mr.  Hart's,  at  a  hamlet  known  as  No.  4.  In  the 
other  course,  directly  or  divergingly,  this  road  led  to 
sections  called  Snakehill,  Five-mile-lot,  and  the  Ledge.  On 
the  south-west  was  a  plantation  that  had  been  christened 
Breakneck.  The  village  of  Livingston,  or  Settlement,  as 
it  was  sometimes  termed,  lay  to  the  east  about  two  miles  in 
a  straight  line.  If  a  stranger  should  approach  the  Pond 
from  the  village  he  would  receive  the  impression  that  it 
was  singularly  situated  up  among  high  hills,  or  even  on  a 


MARGAHET.  21 

mountain,  since  his  route  would  be  one  of  continual  and 
perhaps  tedious  ascent.  But  those  who  abode  there  had 
no  idea  their  locality  was  more  raised  than  that  of  the  rest 
of  the  world,  so  sensibly  are  our  notions  of  height  and 
depression  affected  by  residence.  From  the  village  you 
could  descry  the  top  of  the  Head,  like  a  tower  upon  a 
mountain,  elevated  far  into  the  heavens. 

On  this  hill,  it  being  a  striking  characteristic  of  the  Pond, 
we  must  cast  a  passing  look.  A  few  rods  back  of  Mr.  Hart's 
house  the  ascent  commenced,  and  rose  with  an  abrupt 
acclivity  to  the  height  of  nearly  one  hundred  feet.  Its 
surface  was  ragged  and  rocky,  and  interspersed  with 
various  kinds  of  shrubs.  From  the  edge  of  the  water  its 
south  front  sprang  straight  and  sheer  like  a  castle.  The 
top  was  flat  and  nearly  bare  of  vegetation,  save  the  dead 
and  barkless  trunk  of  a  hemlock,  which,  solitary  and  alone, 
shot  up  therefrom,  and  was  sometimes  called  the  Indian's 
Feather.  This  hill  derived  its  specific  name,  Indian's 
Head,  from  a  rude  resemblance  to  a  man's  face  that  could 
be  traced  on  one  of  its  sides.  This  particular  eminence 
was  not,  however,  a  detached  pinnacle  ;  it  seemed  rather 
to  form  the  abrupt  and  crowned  terminus  of  a  mountainous 
range  that  swept  far  to  the  north,  and  ultimately  merged  in 
those  eternal  hills  that  in-wall  every  horizon.  Behind  the 
hill  at  the  northern  extremity  of  the  Pond  proper,  where  its 
waters  were  gathered  to  a  head  by  a  dam,  and  a  saw-mill 
had  been  erected,  was  the  Outlet ;  which  became  the  source 
of  a  stream,  that  proceeding  circuitously  to  No.  4,  and 
turning  towards  the  village  where  it  was  again  employed 
for  milling  purposes,  had  been  denominated  Mill  Brook. 

Mr.  Hart  had  cleared  a  few  acres  for  corn,  potatoes  and 
flax,  and  burnt  over  more  for  grain.  He  enjoyed  also  the 
liberty  of  brooks  and  swamps,  whence  he  gathered  grass, 


22  OBKD. 

brakes  and  whatever  he  could  find  to  store  his  barn.  Be- 
yond the  barn  waa  a  lot  of  five  or  six  acres,  known  as  the 
Mowing  or  Chesnuts.  It  was  cleared,  und  partially  culti- 
vated with  clover  and  herdsgrass.  This  consisted  original- 
ly of  a  grove  of  chesnut  trees,  which  not  being  felled,  but 
killed  by  girdling,  had  become  entirely  divested  of  bark 
even  to  the  tips  of  the  limbs,  and  now  stood,  in  number  two 
or  three  score,  in  height  fifty  or  seventy-five  feet,  denuded, 
blanched,  a  resort  for  crows,  where  woodpeckers  hammered 
and  blue-linnets  sung. 

When  Margaret  had  done  her  task,  she  was  at  liberty  to 
repair  the  effect  of  Hash's  spleen  and  attend  to  other  little 
affairs  of  her  own.  Obed  Wright,  the  son  and  only  child 
of  their  only  neighbor,  was  at  hand  to  assist  her.  She  had 
hops  and  virgin's  bower  trained  up  the  side  of  the  house, 
and  even  shading  her  chamber  window.  To  prevent  the 
ravages  of  hogs  and  geese,  Chilion  had  fenced  in  a  little 
spot  for  her  near  the  house.  Obed  brought  her  new  flow- 
ers from  the  woods,  and  instructed  her  how  to  plant  them. 
He  was  thirteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age,  homely  but  clever, 
as  we  say,  a  tall,  knuckled-jointed,  shad-faced  youth  ;  his 
hair  was  red,  his  cheeks  freckled  ;  his  hands  and  feet  were 
immense,  his  arms  long  and  stout.  He  suffered  from  near- 
sightedness.  He  was  dressed  like  his  neighbors,  in  a  shirt 
and  skilts,  excepting  that  his  collar  and  waistbands  were 
fastened  by  silver  buttons  ;  and  he  wore  a  cocked  hat.  It 
seemed  to  please  him  to  help  Margaret,  and  he  staid  till 
almost  sunset,  when  Hash  came  in  from  his  work.  Hash 
hated  or  spited  Obed,  partly  on  Margaret's  account,  partly 
because  of  misunderstandings  with  his  mother,  and  partly 
from  the  perverseness  of  his  own  nature  ;  and  he  annoyed 
him  with  the  dog,  who  always  growled  and  glared  when  he 
saw  the  boy.  But  Margaret  stood  between  him  and  harm. 
In  the  present  instance,  she  held  the  dog  by  the  neck,  till 


MARGARET.  23 

Obed  had  time  to  run  round  the  corner  of  the  house  and 
make  his  escape. 

Margaret  seated  herself  on  the  door-step  to  eat  her  sup- 
per, consisting  of  toasted  brown  bread  and  watered  cider, 
served  in  a  curiously  wrought  cherry-bowl  and  spoon.  The 
family  were  taking  their  meal  in  the  kitchen.  The  sun 
had  gone  down.  The  whippoorwill  came  and  sat  on  the 
butternut,  and  sang  his  evening  note,  always  plaintive, 
always  welcome.  The  night-hawk  dashed  and  hissed 
through  the  woods  and  the  air  on  slim,  quivering  wings. 
A  solitary  robin  chanted  sweetly  a  long  time  from  the  hill. 
Myriads  of  insects  revolved  and  murmured  over  her  head. 
Crickets  chirped  in  the  grass  and  under  the  decaying  sills 
of  the  house.  She  heard  the  voice  of  the  waterfall  at  the 
Outlet,  and  the  croaking  of  a  thousand  frogs  in  the  Pond. 
She  saw  the  stars  come  out,  Lyra,  the  Northern  Crown, 
the  Serpent.  She  looked  into  the  heavens,  she  opened  her 
ears  to  the  dim  evening  melodies  of  the  universe  ;  yet  as  a 
child.  She  was  interrupted  by  the  sharp  voice  of  her 
mother,  "  Go  to  your  roost,  Peggy  !  " 

"  Yes,  Molly  dear,"  said  her  father,  very  softly,  "  Dick 
and  Robin  are  asleep  ;  see  who  will  be  up  first,  you  or  the 
silver  rooster ;  who  will  open  your  eyes  first,  you  or  the 
dandelion  ?  " 

"  Kiss  me  Margery,"  said  Chilion.  She  climbed  into 
her  chamber,  she  sank  on  her  pallet,  closed  her  eyes  and 
fell  into  dreams  of  beauty  and  heaven,  of  other  forms  than 
those  daily  about  her,  of  a  sweeter  voice  than  that  of  father 
or  mother. 

We  conclude  this  chapter  by  remarking,  that  the  scenes 
and  events  of  this  Memoir  belong  to  what  may  be  termed 
the  mediaeval  or  transition  period  of  New  England  history, 
that  lying  between  the  close  of  the  war  of  our  Revolution 
«nd  the  commencement  of  the  present  century. 


24  THE    WIDOW    WRIGHT. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    WIDOW    WRIGHT. 

MARGARET  was  up  early  in  the  morning,  before  the 
sun.  She  washed  at  the  cistern  and  wiped  herself  on  a 
coarse  crash  towel,  rough,  but  invigorating,  beautifying  and 
healthy.  She  did  her  few  chores,  and,  as  she  had  promised, 
started  for  the  Widow  Wright's.  Hash  was  getting  ready 
his  team,  a  yoke  of  starveling  steer?,  in  a  tumbril  cart,  the 
wheels  of  which  were  formed  from  a  solid  block  of  wood. 
He  set  her  in  the  cart,  he  derfred  to  show  his  skill  in  driving, 
perhaps  he  wished  to  tease  her  on  the  way.  "  Haw  ! 
Buck,  hish !  Bright,  gee  up !  "  Vigorously  plied  he  his 
whip  of  wood-chuck  skin  on  a  walnut  stock.  The  cart 
reeled  and  rattled.  It  jolted  over  stones,  canted  on  knolls, 
sidled  into  gutters.  Margaret  held  fast  by  the  stakes. 
"  Good  to  settle  your  breakfast,  Peggy.  Going  to  see 
Obed,  hey  ?  and  the  Widder  ?  ask  her  if  she  can  cure  the 
yallers  in  Bright."  Margaret  was  victimized  and  amused 
by  her  brother.  She  half  cried,  half  laughed.  Her 
brother  came  at  last  to  the  lot  he  was  engaged  in  clearing. 
He  lifted  Margaret  from  the  cart.  She  went  on,  and  Bull 
followed  her.  Hash  called  the  dog  backhand  in  great 
wrath  gave  him  a  blow  with  his  whip.  The  animal  leaped 
and  skulked  away,  and  joined  again  with  Margaret,  who 
patted  his  head  as  he  ran  along  by  her  side.  She  entered 
woods  ;  the  path  was  narrow,  grass-grown.  She  followed 
the  cow-tracks  through  thickets  of  sweet  fern  almost  as 
high  as  her  head.  The  road  descended  to  a  brook  crossed 


MARGABET.  '25 

by  a  pole-bridge.  The  dog  stopped  to  drink,  she  to  look 
into  the  water,  Minnows  and  pinheads  were  flashing  and 
scudding  through  the  clear,  bright  stream.  There  were 
hair- A'orms  fabled  to  spring  from  horse-hair,  in  black  lines 
writhing  on  the  surface  ;  caddice-worms  clothed  with  shells 
and  leaves,  crawling  on  the  bottom ;  and  boat-flies 
swimming  on  their  backs.  The  water  made  music  with 
the  stones.  She  waded  in,  and  sported  bare-foot  on  the 
slippery  pebbles.  She  looked  under  the  bridge,  and  that 
shaded  spot  had  a  mystery  to  the  child's  mind,  such  per- 
haps as  is  more  remembered  in  future  years  than  com- 
mented on  at  the  time.  She  pursued  a  trout,  that  had 
shown  its  black  eye  and  golden-spotted  back  and  vanished. 
She  could  not  find  it.  On  she  went  towards  Mrs.  Wright's. 

This  lady  had  lost  her  husband  a  few  years  before.  He 
left  her  in  possession  of  a  small  farm,  and  a  large  reversion 
in  the  medicinal  riches  of  the  whole  district.  It  had  been 
a  part  of  Dr.  Wright's  occupation  to  gather  and  prepare 
herbs  for  the  sick.  His  materia  medica  was  large,  various 
and  productive.  He  learnt  as  he  could  the  nature  of 
diseases,  and  was  sometimes  called  to  prescribe  as  well 
as  sell  his  drugs.  When  he  died  his  wife  came  in 
full  possession  of  his  secrets  and  his  practice.  She 
gathered  plants  from  all  the  woods,  sands  and  swamps. 
She  knew  the  quality  of  every  root,  stalk,  leaf,  flower  and 
berry.  Her  son  Obed  she  was  instructing  to  be  her  servitor 
and  aid,  as  well  as  (he  successor  of  his  father.  The  lady's 
habits  were  careful,  saving,  thriving.  She  cultivated,  in 
addition,  a  few  acres  of  land.  Her  house  was  neat  and 
comfortable.  It  was  a  small  frame  building,  clap-boarded 
on  the  sides  and  roof.  It  had  a  warm  sunny  position,  on  a 
southern  slope,  with  rocks  and  woods  behind.  It  stood  in 
the  centre  of  a  large  yard,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  a  fence 

VOL.  i.  3 


20  THE    WIDOW    WIIIGHT. 

of  hemlock  stumps,  with  their  large,  spreading,  tangled  roots, 
like  the  feet  of  giants,  turned  towards  the  street,  making  a 
grotesque  but  complete  barrier.  You  entered  the  yard  by 
a  stile  formed  of  the  branches  of  these  roots.  "Within  the 
enclosure  were  beds  of  cultivated  herbs,  caraway,  rue, 
savory,  thyme,  tansy,  parsley  and  other  aromatic  and 
medicinal  plants.  Obed  was  at  work  among  the  beds. 
Margaret  climbed  the  stile.  Bull  leaped  up  after  her. 
When  Obed  saw  Margaret  his  dull  face  emitted  rays  of  joy 
which  were  succeeded  by  a  cloud  of  dismay. 

"  Bull  won't  hurt  you  Obed.  He's  a  good  dog,"  said 
Margaret.  "  Put  your  hand  on  his  head." 

"  He's  a  great  dog,"  said  Obed.  "  He's  got  dreadful 
big  teeth.  Hash's  allers  makin'  him  bite." 

The  dog  taking  no  notice  of  these  insinuations,  retired  to 
the  shade  of  the  fence.  Margaret  proceeded  to  assist  Obed 
weed  his  beds,  then  she  walked  through  the  little  aisles  her 
kind  friend  treated  with  so  much  care.  The  atmosphere 
was  charged  with  the  perfume  of  the  flowers.  Margaret 
shook  the  thyme-bed,  and  a  shadowy  motion,  like  the 
waving  of  a  cloud,  floated  over  it.  Bees,  flies,  beetles, 
butterflies,  were  bustling  upon  it,  diving  into  every  flower, 
and  searching  every  cup. 

"  What  d'ye  think  of  the  yarbs,  Moll  ?  "  said  the  Widow, 
calling  to  Margaret  from  the  door  of  the  house. 

"  They  look  pretty,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  Not  looks,  child,  'tis  use.  We'll  get  a  hundred  bunches, 
this  year.  The  saffron  we  cut  to-morrow,  and  the  balm'll 
be  ready  soon." 

"You  are  not  going  to  cut  all  these  flowers,  are  you?  " 

"  Yes.  Them's  for  medicine.  Wait  till  the  flowers  is 
gone,  they  wouldn't  be  worth  more'n  your  toad-flax  and 
bean  vines.  They  wouldn't  fetch  a  bungtown  copper.  See 


MARGARET.  27 

here,  that's  sage,  good  for  tea.  That's  goat's  rue,  good  for 
women  as  has  little  babies.  Guess  you  was  a  little  baby 
once.  I've  known  ye  ever  sen  ye  warn't  more'n  so  high." 

"  Was  I  so  little  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  Yes,  and  pimpin  enough.  An  I  fed  yer  raarra  with  rue, 
and  comfrey-root,  or  ye  never'd  come  teu  this.  Ye  was 
thin  and  poor  as  a  late  chicken." 

The  Widow  Wright  was  dressed  in  the  costume  of  the 
times,  a  white  linen  short-gown,  checked  apron  and  black 
petticoat.  She  wore  on  her  head  a  large  brown  turban. 
Her  eye  was  black  and  piercing,  and  she  had  a  sin- 
gular power  of  laughter,  which  was  employed  to  express 
every  variety  of  emotion,  whether  pleasure  or  pain,  anger 
or  complacence. 

This  lady  possessed  a  fine  colony  of  bees,  and  Margaret 
approached  their  house.  These  orderly  and  profitable 
busy-bodies  seemed  like  a  rain  storm  blowing  from  all  points 
of  the  compass,  and  the  child  looked  as  if  she  was  out  in  it. 
The  ominous  drops  fell  on  her  head,  and  she  appeared  to 
be  catching  some  in  the  bare  palm  of  her  hand  ;  some  lit  on 
her  hat,  and  crawled  over  her  neck.  Not  one  offered  her 
harm  ;  she  was  not  stung. 

"  A  marvellous  wonderful  gal,"  uttered  the  Widow  to 
herself,  as  she  surveyed  the  scene  from  the  door.  "  Pity 
'tis  she's  Brown  Moll's  child." 

Margaret  had  an  errand,  to  get  honey  for  a  bee-hunt 
Chilion  had  in  prospect,  and  stated  hei  desire  to  Mrs. Wright. 
There  was  an  old  feud  between  the  two  families,  not 
affecting  intercourse  and  acquaintance,  so  much  as  matters 
of  interest,  The  widow  received  the  message  rather 
coldly,  and  beginning  in  unwillingness,  ended  with 
invective 

"  He's  a  lazy,  good  for  nothin'  feller,  Chil  is.  He's  no 
better  than  a  peakin'  mud-sucker.  He  lives  on  us  all  here 


28  THE    WIDOW    WRIGHT. 

like  house-leek.  He's  no  more  use  than  yer  prigged  up 
creepers.  He  is  worse  than  the  witches  ;  vervain  nor  dill 
won't  keep  him  away.  I  tell  ye,  Chil  shan't  have  no 
honey." 

Margaret  was  abashed,  silenced.  She  could  understand 
that  her  brother  would  feel  disappointed  ;  that  he  was  not 
so  bad.  Beyond  this  she  did  not  discriminate. 

"  Chilion  is  good,"  she  stammered  at  last. 

"  Good  !  what's  he  good  for  ?  "  rejoined  the  woman, 
"  Does  he  get  any  money  ?  Can  he  find  yarbs  ?  He 
don't  know  the  difference  between  snake-root  and  lavender." 

"  He's  good  to  me,"  said  Margaret.  This  was  an  appeal 
that  struck  the  woman  with  some  force.  She  seemed  to 
soften. 

"  Ye  are  a  good  child  ;  ye  help  Obed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  as  if  watching  her  cue,  "  I  will 
help  Obed.  I'll  mind  the  beds  when  the  birds  are  about. 
I'll  go  into  the  woods  and  get  plants.  I'll  keep  Bull  off 
from  him." 

"  Bein'  ye'll  help  Obed,  I'll  give  ye  the  honey.  But  don't 
come  agin." 

Margaret,  taking  the  article  in  question  on  some  green 
leaves,  went  merrily  home. 

We  cannot  dismiss  this  chapter  without  remarking  that 
the  Widow  Wright  revered  the  memory  of  her  husband. 
It  was  certainly  of  some  use  for  her  to  do  so,  as  his  reputa- 
tion had  been  considerable  in  the  line  of  his  practice.  The 
representation  of  the  deceased,  which  she  herself  bore,  she 
designed  by  degrees  to  transfer  to  her  son.  The  silver  but- 
tons, which  shone  on  Obed,  as  well  as  other  articles  of  dress 
he  occasionally  wore,  belonged  to  his  late  father.  With  all 
her  thrift  and  care,  the  lady  liked  our  Margaret  very  well. 
"  She  was  so  feat  and  spry,  and  knowin,  and  good-natered," 
•he  said,  "  she  could  be  made  of  some  use  to  somebody." 


THE    BEE-HUNT.  29 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    BEE     HUNT.  —  MARGARET    GOES     FARTHER   INTO    NATURE. 
SHE    SINS    AND    REPENTS. THE    MASTER. 

THE  next  morning,  Chilion  and  Margaret,  joined  by 
Obed,  started  on  a  bee-hunt.  Obed  was  to  remain  with 
them  till  the  chase  was  over,  when  Margaret  promised  to 
aid  him  in  collecting  plants  for  his  mother.  They  took 
with  them  honey,  leather  mittens  for  the  hands,  screens  for 
the  face,  brimstone  and  other  requisites.  They  entered  the 
woods  lying  to  the  south  of  the  Pond,  an  unlimited  range, 
extending  in  some  directions  many  miles.  The  honey 
being  placed  on  a  stump,  several  bees,  springing  up  as  it 
were  from  vacuity,  laded  themselves  with  the  fatal  bait,  and 
darted  off.  Our  hunters  pursued,  watching  the  course  of 
their  flight,  and  were  conducted  by  the  unconscious  guides 
to  their  own  abode,  a  partially  decayed  tree.  A  few 
strokes  of  the  axe  brought  it  crashing  to  the  ground.  It 
was  a  more  difficult  task  to  possess  themselves  of  the  honey. 
The  outraged  and  indignant  insects  spurted  out  from  their 
nest  like  fire  ;  their  simultaneous  start,  their  mixed  and 
deepened  buzz,  their  thousand  wings  beating  as  for  life, 
made  a  noise  not  unlike  a  distant  waterfall,  or  the  hidden 
roar  of  an  abyss.  The  persecutors  speedily  covered 
their  faces  and  hands,  and  waited  for  the  alarm  to  subside. 
Margaret  said  she  thought  they  would  not  hurt  her,  as 
those  at  the  Widow's  did  not.  It  is  said  there  are  some 
persons  whom  bees  never  sting.  She  kindled  the  brim- 
stone  each  side  of  the  tree.  The  bees  within,  called  out 
3» 


30  MARGARET. 

by  a  rap  on  the  trunk,  and  those  without,  flying  and  crawl- 
ing about  their  nest,  fell  dead  in  the  smoke.  Cliilion  cut 
a  passage  to  the  cavity  where  the  comb  lay.  Margaret, 
looking  in,  and  seeing  the  beautiful  chambers  of  these  syl- 
van operatives  seemed  struck  with  remorse.  She  had 
eaten  honey  and  honey-comb.  She  had  seen  bees,  but 
she  never  had  associated  the  two  together  in  such  a 
touching,  domestic  and  artistical  sense.  She  saw  the  bees 
lying  dead  in  heaps.  She  had  killed  them  Some  not  quite 
dead,  lay  on  their  backs,  their  feet  convulsed  and  arms 
quivering.  Others  were  endeavoring  to  stretch  their  wings. 
She  could  render  back  no  life  ;  she  could  set  not  a  muscle  in 
motion  ;  she  could  re-form  not  a  filament  of  a  wing.  They 
would  visit  her  flowers  no  more ;  their  hum  would  blend 
never  again  with  the  sounds  she  loved  to  hear.  Whether 
the  reflections  of  the  child  were  just  of  this  sort,  order 
and  proportion,  we  are  not  told.  The  bees  were  dead,  and 
she  was  sad.  She  had  seen  dead  squirrels,  raccoons,  par- 
tridges, pigeons.  But  they  were  brought  in  dead  ;  she  had 
not  killed  them.  What  is  the  child's  first  sense  of  death  ? 
She  would  have  given  all  her  little  heart  was  worth,  could 
she  restore  the  life  she  had  so  thoughtlessly  taken,  and  see 
them  again  busy,  blithe,  happy  about  her  house.  Tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks,  the  unconscious  expiation  of  Nature  to 
the  Infinite  Life.  Chilion  and  Obed  were  apparently  too 
much  occupied  to  notice  her  agitation,  nor  would  she  have 
dared  to  speak  to  them  of  what  she  felt. 

The  tall  gawky  form  of  Obed  went  before  through  the 
woods.  The  lad's  trousers,  through  which  penetrated  his 
lean  dry  shanks,  gave  him  a  semblance  to  a  peasant  of 
Gascony  on  stilts.  His  shovel  bat  skewed  on  this  sideand 
that,  and  bobbed  up  and  down  among  the  branches.  It  was, 
as  we  might  say,  a  new  scene  to  Margaret.  She  had  never 


THE    WOODS.  31 

gone  so  far  into  the  forest  before.  She  was  susceptible  in 
her  feelings,  and  fresh  as  susceptible.  The  impression  of 
the  bees  somewhat  abated,  though  its  remembrance  could 
never  be  stifled.  The  woods,  —  where  Adam  and  Eve 
enjoyed  their  pastime  and  sought  their  repose  ;  where  the 
Amorites  and  Assyrians  learned  to  pray,  and  the  Israelites 
to  rebel ;  where  all  ancient  nations  found  materials  for 
sacrifice  and  offering ;  where  Hertha,  the  Goddess  of  the 
Angles,  had  her  lovely  residence ;  where  the  Druids 
"  thought  every  thing  sent  from  Heaven  that  grew  on  the 
oak  ;  "  the  religion  and  worship  of  the  old  Germans,  Ital- 
ians and  Gauls ;  where  Pan  piped,  the  Satyrs  danced,  the 
Fauns  browsed,  Sylvanus  loved,  Diana  hunted,  and  Feronia 
watched ;  whence  Greek  and  Saracen,  Pagan  and  Chris- 
tian derived  architecture,  order,  grace,  capitals,  groins, 
arches ;  whence  came  enchantment  and  power  to  Shaks- 
peare,  Milton,  Wordsworth,  Scott,  Cooper,  Bryant,  Titian, 
Claude,  Allston  ;  where  "the  stately  castle  of  the  feudal 
lord  reared  its  head,  the  lonely  anchorite  sang  his  evening 
hymn,  and  the  sound  of  the  convent  bell  was  heard,"  and 
the  fox  and  stag-hunter  pursued  their  game  ;  where  Robin 
Hood  and  his  merry  men  did  their  exploits,  and  king  Rufus 
was  slain  ;  the  enlivenment  and  decoration  of  the  Feast  of 
Tabernacles,  May-day,  Whitsuntide,  -Christmas  ;  the  ward 
of  dryads,  the  scene  of  fairy,  revels,  and  Puck's  pranks, 
the  haunt  of  bul-beggars,  witches,  spirits,  urchins,  elves, 
hags,  dwarfs,  giants,  the  spoorn,  the  puckle,the  man  in  the 
oak,  will-o'-the-wisp  ;  the  opera-house  of  birds,  the  shelter 
of  beasts,  the  retreat  of  mosquitoes  and  flies ;  where  sugar 
was  made,  and  coal  burnt ;  where  the  report  of  the  rifle 
was  heard,  and  the  stroke  of  the  axe  resounded  ;  the  home, 
manor,  church,  country,  kingdom,  hunting-ground  and 
burial  place  of  the  Indian  ;  the  woods,  green,  sweet-smell- 


32  MARGARET. 

ing,  imparadisaical,  inspiring,  suggestive,  wild,  musical, 
sombre,  superstitious,  devotional,  mystic,  tranquilizing  ;  — 
these  were  about  the  child  and  over  her. 

That  we  must  know  in  order  to  know,  that  we  must  feel 
in  order  to  feel,  was  a  truth  Margaret  but  little  realized. 
She  was  beginning  to  know  and  to  fei-1.  Could  the  Immortal 
Spirit  of  the  Woods  have  spoken  to  her  ? — but  she  was  not 
prepared  for  it ;  she  was  too  young ;  she  only  felt  an 
exhilarating  sensation  of  variety,  beauty,  grandeur,  awe. 
She  leaped  over  roots,  she  caught  at  the  spray  above  her 
head,  she  hid  herself  in  thickets,  she  chased  the  birds.  Yet 
with  all  that  was  new  about  her,  and  fitted  to  engross  her 
vision,  and  supplant  her  recent  sorrowful  impressions,  there 
seemed  a  new  sense  aroused,  or  active  within  her,  an 
unconscious  instinct,  a  hidden  prompting  of  duty  ;  she  trod 
with  more  care  than  usual ;  a  fly,  beetle,  or  snail,  she 
turned  aside  for,  or  stepped  protectingly  over  ;  she  would 
not  jostle  a  spider's  web. 

"  It  won't  hurt  ye,"  said  Obed.  "  It  brings  good 
weather." 

"  I  know  that,"  replied  Margaret,  "  but  I  don't  want  to 
kill  it. 

Obed  was  homely  and  clever,  as  we  have  said,  simple 
and  trusting.  He  never  argued  a  point  with  Margaret ;  he 
was  glad  to  have  her  help  him,  and  glad  to  help  her.  He 
held  back  the  low  branches  for  her  to  pass,  he  assisted  her 
over  slippery  trunks,  he  lifted  her  across  the  narrow 
deep  stream  of  Mill  Brook.  He  brandished  his  spade,  and 
said  he  would  keep  off  the  snakes  ;  Margaret  replied  that 
she  was  not  afraid  of  them.  They  came  to  a  sunny  glade  in 
the  woods,  tufted  with  black  and  white  moss,  shaded  by 
buckle-berry  shrubs,  and  sown  with  checker-berries,  whose 
fruit  hung  in  round  crimson  drops,  and  little  waxen  flowers 


THE    WOODS.  33 

bloomed  under  the  dark  shining  leaves.  Margaret  sat  down 
and  ate  the  sweet  berries  and  their  spicy  leaves.  The 
shadows  of  the  forest  vibrated  and  flickered  on  the  yellow 
leaf-strewed  earth  and  through  the  green  underwood  ;  the 
trunks  of  the  trees  shot  up,  in  straight,  rough,  tapering 
stems  clear  through  to  the  sky. 

This  particular  patch  of  woods  was  of  great  age,  and  the 
trees  were  very  large,  and  the  effect  on  Margaret's  mind 
was  like  that  of  a  child  going  into  St.  Peter's  church  at 
Home.  But  there  were  no  bronze  saints  here  to  look  down 
on  her  ;  a  red  squirrel,  as  she  came  in  sight,  raised  a  loud 
shrill  chattering,  a  singular  mixture  of  contempt,  welcome 
and  alarm.  She  made  some  familar  demonstrations  towards 
the  little  fellow,  and  he,  like  a  jilt,  dropped  a  nut  into  her 
face.  She  saw  a  brown  cat-headed  owl  asleep,  muffled  in 
his  dark  feathers  and  darker  dreams,  and  called  Obed's 
attention  to  it. 

'*  That's  an  owl,"  cried  the  startled  lad  ;  "  it's  a  bad  sign  ; 
Marm  says  it  will  hurt." 

"  No,"  replied  Margaret ;  I've  seen  them  on  the  Butter- 
nut a  good  many  times."  Knowing  that  as  Obed  never 
reasoned  so  he  could  never  be  persuaded,  Margaret  joined 
him  in  leaving  the  ominous  vicinage. 

"  That's  saxifax,"  said  her  companion,  striking  his  spade 
into  the  roots  of  a  well-known  shrub.  "  It's  good  teu  chaw  ; 
the  Settlers  eats  it — take  it  down,  and  they'll  give  ye  rib- 
bons and  beads  for  it."  Wisping  the  top  together,  and 
bending  it  over,  he  bade  Margaret  hold  on,  while  he  pro- 
ceeded with  the  digging.  The  light  black  mould  was 
removed,  and  the  reddish  damp  roots  disclosed.  "  Taste 
on't,"  he  said,  "  it's  good  as  nutcakes."  Margaret  loitered, 
wandered,  attracted  by  the  flowers  she  stopped  to  pick. 
"  Marm  won't  let  us,"  said  Obed,  "  them  ant  yarbs,  they 


34  THE    MASTER. 

won't  doctor,  the  Settlers  won't  touch  them.  Margaret, 
whether  convinced  or  not,  yielded,  and  ran  on  before, 
apparently  the  most  anxious  to  discover  the  plants  desired. 

"  That's  urn  !  "  cried  Obed. 

Margaret  was  bounding  through  a  wet  bog,  springing 
from  one  tussock  of  sedge  to  another.  She,  too,  had  espied 
it,  and  in  sight  of  its  beauty  and  novelty  forgot  every  thing 
else.  It  was  a  wake-robin,  commonly  known  as  dragon- 
root,  devil's  ear,  or  Indian  turnip.  Margaret  broke  off  the 
flower,  which  she  would  have  carried  to  her  nose. 

"  Don't  ye  taste  on't !  "  exclaimed  Obed,  "  it's  orful 
burnin  ;  put  it  in  the  basket."  So  the  plant,  flower  and  all, 
were  deposited  with  the  rest  of  their  collection. 

It  was  time  to  go  home.  They  had  reached  the  edge  of 
the  woods  whence  they  started. 

"  That's  him  !  "  cried  Margaret,  clapping  her  hands. 

"  It's  the  Master  !  "  echoed  Obed,  quite  disconcerted. 

There  appeared  before  them  a  man,  the  shadow  of  whom 
they  had  seen  among  the  leaves,  about  fifty  years  of  age, 
and  dressed  in  the  full  style  of  the  times,  or  we  should  say 
of  his  own  time,  which  dated  a  little  earlier  than  that  of 
Margaret.  He  wore  a  three-cornered  hat,  with  a  very 
broad  brim  tied  with  a  black  ribbon  over  the  top.  His 
coat,  of  drab  kerseymere,  descended  in  long,  broad,  square 
skirts,  quite  to  the  calves  of  his  legs.  It  had  no  buttons  in 
ront,  but  in  lieu  thereof,  slashes,  like  long  button  holes, 
and  laced  with  silk  embroidery.  He  had  on  nankeen 
small-clothes,  white  ribbed  silk  stockings,  paste  knee  and 
shoe  buckles,  and  white  silk  knee-bands.  His  waistcoat, 
or  vest,  was  of  yellow  embossed  silk,  with  long  skirts  or 
lappels,  rounded  and  open  at  the  bottom,  and  bordered 
with  white  silk  fringe.  The  sleeves  and  skirts  of  his  coat 
were  garnished  with  rows  of  silver  buttons.  He  wore  rufHe 


MARGARET.  35 

cuffs  that  turned  back  over  his  wrists  and  reached  almost  to 
his  elbows ;  on  his  neck  was  a  snow-white  linen  plaited 
stock,  fastened  behind  with  a  large  silver  buckle,  that  glis- 
tened above  the  low  collar  of  his  coat.  Under  his  hat  ap- 
peared a  gray  wig,  falling  in  rolls  over  his  shoulders,  and 
gathered  behind  with  a  black  ribbon.  From  his  side  de- 
pended a  large  gold  watch-seal  and  key,  on  a  long  gold 
chain.  He  had  on  a  pair  of  tortoise-shell  bridge  spectacles. 
A  golden-headed  cane  was  thrust  under  his  arm.  This  was 
Mr.  Bartholomew  Elliman,  the  Schoolmaster,  or  the  Mas- 
ter, as  he  was  called.  He  was  tall  in  person,  had  an  aqui- 
line nose,  and  a  thin  face. 

"  Ha,  my  Hamadryad ! "  said  he,  addressing  Margaret ; 
"  salutem  et  pacem ;  in  other  words,  how  do  you  do,  my  girl 
of  the  woods?" 

"  Pretty  well,  thankee,"  replied  Margaret. 
"  I  thank  you,  Sir,"  said  he,  amending  her  style  of  ex- 
pression. 

"  I  forgot,"  she  added,  "  pretty  well,  I  thank  you,  Sir." 
He  nodded  to  Obed,  who  stood  aloof  in  awkward  firm- 
ness ;  besides  there  were  signs  of  uneasiness  or  displeasure 
on  the  faces  of  both. 

"  How  came  the  Pond  Lily  in  the  woods  ?  "  said  he. 
"  I  am  after  herbs,"  replied  Margaret ;   "  and  I   have 
some  flowers  too,"  added  she,  taking  off  her  hat. 

"  Flowers,  have  you  ?  You  are  a  noble  specimen  of 
foliacious  amfractuosity — a  hortus  siccus  of  your  hat! 
"Would  I  could  send  you  and  your  flowers  across  the  waters 
to  my  friend,  Mr.  Knight,  the  great  botanist,  nox  semper- 
lucens." 

"He  shan't  hurt  Molly,"  interrupted  Obed.  "He'll 
drown  her,  he'll  pull  her  teu  pieces  Marm  says  he  spiles 
every  thing.  He  wants  to  pitch  Molly  into  the  Pond." 


36  THE    MASTER. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  glandulous  champion,  no  harm 
shall  come  to  this  fair  flower." 

"  He  'II  git  um  all,  Molly  ;    don't  ye  let  him  have  any." 

"  I  tell  you,"  responded  the  Master,  "  Margaret  is  a 
flower ;  she  is  my  flower." 

"She  ari't  a  flower,"  rejoined  Obed,  "she's  Pluck's 
Molly." 

Obed  became  quite  excited,  and  spake  with  more  than 
his  customary  freedom.  It  needs  perhaps  to  be  explained, 
that  Master  Elliman  and  the  "Widow  Wright  were  some- 
what at  odds.  He  was  in  pursuit  of  science,  she  of  gain. 
They  took  a  common  track,  plants  and  flowers;  their  ends 
essentially  diverged.  They  frequently  encountered,  but 
they  could  never  agree.  Margaret  herself  was  another 
point  of  issue,  the  Widow  being  jealous  of  the  child's  attach- 
ment to  the  Master.  The  impression  that  Obed  on  the 
whole  derived,  was,  that  he  was  an  evil-disposed  person, 
and  one  whose  presence  boded  no  good  to  Margaret. 

The  Master  proceeded  in  the  examination  of  the  flowers 
Margaret  gave  him. 

"  I  have  another  one,"  said  she  ;  and  thrusting  her  hand 
into  Obed's  basket,  drew  out  the  wake-robin. 

"An  Arum!"  said  the  Master,  "the  very  thing  I  have 
been  written  to  upon." 

"  Tan't  yourn,  Molly  ;  it's  Marm's,"  said  Obed,  seizing 
the  flower  and  replacing  it  in  the  basket. 

Here  was,  indeed,  a  mistake.  Margaret  had  unreflect- 
ingly given  the  flower  to  Obed  to  carry,  at  the  same  time 
thinking  it  belonged  to  herself.  She  did  not  know  the 
value  attached  to  it  by  Obed,  whose  mother  had  enjoined 
him  to  get  one  if  possible,  for  some  particular  purpose  of 
her  own.  At  last  she  said,  — 

"  I  can  get  more  ;  I  know  where  they  grow." 


87 


"  Can  you,  can  you  ?  "  said  the  Master,  "  their  habitat  is 
sphagnous  places,  what  you  call  swamps.  It  is  impossible 
for  me  to  reach  them.  Stultiloquent  yarb-mnnger  !  "  he 
broke  out,  speaking  of  or  to  Obed  ;  "  son  of  a  helminthic 
android  !  you  ought  to  be  capistrated." 

"  That's  hocuspocus,  Molly,"  said  the  lad  :  "  Marm  says 
'tis.  He  '11  hurt  ye,  he  '11  hurt  ye." 

"  I  will  get  some  for  both  of  you,"  said  Margaret  ;  "  I 
will  go  to-morrow." 

"  You  don't  know  the  way,"  rejoined  Obed,  "  snakes  '11 
bite  ye  ;  there's  painters  in  the  woods,  and  wild  cats,  and 
owls." 

"  I  '11  take  Bull  with  me,"  answered  Margaret. 

This  allusion  to  the  dog  renewed  Obed's  trouble.  He 
feared  his  mother,  who  he  thought  would  not  wish  the 
Master  should  have  the  flower  ;  he  dreaded  the  dog,  he 
disliked  the  Master,  he  loved  Margaret  ;  he  was  in  a  quan- 
dary. He  stammered,  he  tried  to  laugh,  he  put  his  hand 
on  Margaret's  head,  he  yerked  up  his  trousers,  he  looked 
into  his  basket.  He  leaned  against  a  tree,  and  dropped  his 
face  upon  his  arm.  Margaret  ran  to  him,  and  took  hold  of 
•his  hand.  "Don't  cry  Obed,"  she  said  ;  "poor  Obed,  don't 
cry." 

The  Master,  seeing  the  extremity  of  affairs,  told  Marga- 
ret not  to  care,  that  he  presumed  she  would  be  able  to  get 
the  flower  for  him,  and  took  her  hand  to  lead  her  away. 
She  clung  to  Obed,  or  he  to  her,  wholly  enveloping  her 
little  hand,  wrist  and  all,  in  his  great  fist.  Thus  linked, 
sidling,  skewing,  filing  as  they  could  through  the  trees  and 
brush,  they  soon  emerged  in  the  roud.  The  Master  went 
on  with  them  to  the  house,  and  Obed  continued  his  course 
homeward.  Master  Elliman  was  evidently  not  a  stranger 
to  the  family.  His  visit  seemed  welcome.  Even  the  hard 

VOL.  i.  4 


38  THE    MASTER. 

muddy  features  of  Hash  brightened  with  a  smile  as  he  en- 
tered. The  dry,  pursed  mouth  of  the  mother  yielded 
a  pleasant  salutation.  Chilion  offered  the  best  chair. — 
Pluck  was  always  merry.  Margaret  alone  for  the  moment, 
contrary  to  her  general  manner,  appeared  sorrowful. 


MAEGAEET.  39 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHY  MARGARET  WAS  SORROWFUL.  —  DREAMS.  —  LIVINGSTON. — 

A  GLIMPSE  AT  "THE  WORLD." ISABEL.  —  NIGHT  AND  OTHER 

SHADOWS. 

AFTER  dinner,  hospitable  as  it  was  rude,  of  which  the 
Master  partook  with  sensible  relish,  Pluck  proposed  that 
Chilion  should  play. 

"  The  rosin,  Margery,"  said  her  brother. 

"  I  have  some  rosin  in  my  pocket,"  said  the  Master,  at 
the  same  time  producing  a  pint  flask,  which  he  set  upon 
the  table.  "  A  bibilous  accompaniment,"  he  added,  "  I 
thought  would  not  be  out  of  place." 

"  Good  enough  for  any  of  their  High  Mightinesses!" 
ejaculated  Pluck,  drinking,  and  returning  the  bottle  to  the 
Master. 

"  Nay,  friend,"  replied  the  latter ;  "  Femina  et  vinum 
make  glad  the  heart  of  man.  Let  her  ladyship  gladden 
her  own." 

Mistress  Hart  also  drank. 

"  Now,  he  who  maketh  speed  to  the  spoil,  Maharshalal- 
hashbaz,"  said  the  Master. 

"  Not  so  good  as  pupelo,"  replied  Hash. 

"  A  rightly  named  youth,"  said  Pluck,  who,  receiving 
the  bottle  to  return  it  to  the  Master,  perceived  its  contents 
nearly  exhausted. 

"  Mea  discipula,"  said  the  Master,  addressing  himself  to, 
Margaret,  "  you  must  be  primarum  artium  princeps." 

"  No  thankee,  —  thank  you  sir,"  replied  she. 

"  Well  done,  well  done !  "  exclaimed  he, 


40  WHY   MARGARET    WAS    SORROWFUL. 

"  What !  would  you  not  have  the  child  ezhilirate  and 
spruce  up  a  little?"  cried  the  father. 

"  You  mistake  me,  friend,"  said  the  Master,  "  I  appro- 
bated the  girl,  not  that  she  did  not  receive  this  very  genial 
beverage,  but  that  she  manifests  such  improvement  in 
speech." 

"  Let  her  drink,  and  she  will  speak  well  enough," 
rejoined  her  father.  "  She  won't  touch  it !  She  mopes, 
she  nuzzles  about  in  the  grass  and  chips.  She  is  certainly 
growing  weakling.  Only  she  sings  roung  after  dark,  like  a 
thrasher,  and  picks  up  spiders  and  pismires,  like  a  frog." 

"  This  is  none  of  your  snow-broth,  Peggy,"  said  the 
mother,  "  it's  warming,  it's  as  good  as  the  Widow's  bitter- 
bags." 

"  Don't  you  touch  it,"  said  Chilion,  who  had  been  screw- 
ing and  snapping  the  strings  of  his  violin. 

"  Yes,  drink  Peggy,"  said  Hash,  thrusting  his  slavery 
lips  close  to  her  ear.  "  He'll  bring  some  more,  he  likes  ye. 
He  wants  ye  too." 

Margaret  started  from  him.  "I  can't,"  she  said;  "it  won't 
let  me." 

"  What  won't  let  you,  dear  ?  "  asked  her  father,  drawing 
her  between  his  knees,  and  patting  her  head. 

"  She's  always  a  dreaming,"  said  her  mother  ;  "  she  is  a 
born  bat,  and  flies  off  every  night  nobody  knows  where. 
And  in  the  day  time  I  can't  get  her  to  quilling,  but  she's 
up  and  away  to  the  Widow's,  or  to  the  Pond,  or  on  the  Head. 
She  gets  all  my  threads  to  string  up  her  poses ;  she's  as  bad 
as  a  hang  bird  that  steals  my  yarn  on  the  grass." 

"  Did'nt  I  do  all  the  spools  ?  "  inquired  the  child. 

"  You  did  indeed,"  responded  the  father,  "  you  are  a  nice 
gal.  Hush !  Let  us  hear  our  son  Chilion ;  he  speaka 
well." 

Chilion  played,  and  they  were  silent. 


THE    MASTER.  41 

"  Now  it's  your  turn,  my  daughter,"  said  Pluck,  "  you 
will  play  if  you  won't  drink. " 

Margaret  taking  the  instrument  executed  some  popular 
airs  with  considerable  spirit  and  precision.  "  Now  for  the 
cat,  child  ;  "  so  she  imitated  the  cat,  then  the  song-sparrow, 
then  Obed  crying. 

At  this,  and  especially  the  last,  there  was  a  general 
shout.  The  Master  seemed  highly  surprised  and  pleased. 
"  A  megalopsical  child  !  "  he  exclaimed.  Margaret  with 
blushes  and  tremors,  glad  to  have  succeeded,  more  glad  to 
escape  her  tormentors,  ran  away  and  amused  herself  with 
her  squirrel,  whom  she  was  teaching  to  ride  on  the  dog's 
back.  The  flask  having  been  drained,  the  keg  was  brought 
forward  from  the  chimney  wall. 

"  Here's  to  Miss  Amy,"  said  Pluck,  ogling  the  Master. 

"  Mehercule !  "  exclaimed  the  latter,  "  you  forget  the 
propitiatory  oblation.  We  must  first  propose  his  Majesty 
the  King  of  Puppetdom,  defender  by  the  grace  of  God  of 
England,  France,  and  America ;  the  most  serene,  serene, 
most  puissant,  puissant,  high,  illustrious,  noble,  honorable, 
venerable,  wise  and  prudent  Princes,  Burgomasters,  Coun- 
cillors, Governors,  Committees  of  said  realm,  whether 
ecclesiastical  or  secular;  and -the  most  celebrated  Punch 
and  Judy  of  our  worthy  town  of  Livingston,  Parson  Welles 
and  Deacon  Hadlock,  to  whom  be  all  reverence." 

Pluck.  "  Amen.  I  stroke  my  beard  and  crook  my 
hamstrings  as  low  as  any  one." 

The  Master.    "  Your  promising  daughter,  Mistress  Hart." 

Mis.  Hart.    "  Long  life  to  you,  and  many  visits  from  you." 

Hash.    "  I  say  yes  to  that ;  and  here's  for  Peggy  to  Obed." 

The  Master.     "  Miss  Sibyl  Radney." 

"  How  you  color,  Hash !  "  exclaimed  his  mother.  — 
"  Hang  your  nose  under  your  chin,  and  it  would  equal  old 
4* 


42  MARGARET. 

Gobbler's  wattles.  Put  you  into  the  dye-tub  and  Peggy 
won't  have  to  get  any  more  log- wood.  There  now  she 
must  go  down  for  some  copperas  this  very  afternoon." 

"  Odzbodkins  !  You  won't  spoil  our  sport,"  cried  her 
husband.  "  Your  crotchets  are  always  coming  in  like  a 
fox  into  a  hen-roost." 

"  I  have  work  in  hand  that  must  be  done,"  replied  his 
wife.  "Trencher  worm!"  she  exclaimed,  raising  her 
voice  with  her  fist,  "what  do  you  do  ?  lazying  about  here 
like  a  mud-turtle  nine  days  after  it's  killed.  You  may 
whip  the  cat  ten  years,  and  you  won't  earn  enough  to  stitch 
your  own  rags  with. — I  have  to  tie  up  your  vines,  or  you 
would  have  been  blown  from  the  poles  long  since." 

"  Dearest  Maria,"  began  Pluck. 

"  Don't  deary  me,"  said  Brown  Moll ;  "you  had  better 
go  to  washing  dishes,  and  I'll  take  care  of  the  family." 

While  Mistress  Hart  was  entertaining  her  spouse  in  this 
manner,  for  it  seemed  to  be  entertainment  to  him,  the 
Master  called  Margaret  and  asked  her  to  spell  some  words 
he  put  to  her,  which  she  did  very  correctly.  "  You 
must  certainly  have  a  new  spelling-book,"  said  he.  "  And 
now  I  want  you  to  repeat  the  '  Laplander's  Ode.' " 

She  began  as  follows  :  — 


I. 

'  Ktilnasatz,  my  rein-deer, 
We  have  a  long  journey  to  go  ; 
The  moors  are  vast, 
And  we  must  haste ; 
Our  strength,  I  fear, 
Will  fail  if  we  are  slow  ; 
And  so 
Our  song  will  do. 


WHY  MARGARET   WAS    SORROWFUL.  43 

II. 

"  Kaige",  the  watery  moor, 
Is  pleasant  unto  me, 
Though  long  it  be  ; 
Since  it  (loth  to  my  mistress  lead, 
Whom  I  adore : 
The  Kilwa  moor 
I  ne'er  again  will  tread." 

The  Master,  having  expressed  his  delight  at  this,  said  he 
must  return  to  the  village. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  added  Margaret. 

"  Here  are  the  eggs,"  so  her  mother  instructed  her, 
"  Deacon  Penrose  must  give  a  shilling  a  dozen.  One 
pound  of  copperas,  six  skeins  of  No.  Nine,  half  a  pound  of 
snuff,  the  rest  in  tobacco." 

Margaret,  wearing  in  addition  to  her  usual  dress  a  pair 
of  moccasons  which  an  Indian  who  came  sometimes  to  the 
Pond  gave  her,  called  Bull  and  started  off.  Hash,  in  no 
unusual  fit,  ordered  the  dog  back. 

"  Woman !  woman ! "  cried  Pluck,  "  the  keg  is  out,  it  is 
all  gone." 

"  Let  the  yarn  go,"  said  her  mother,  "  and  get  it  in  rum." 

"  She  will  bring  home  some  of  the  good  book,"  said 
Pluck  to  Hash,  "  the  real  white-eye,  you  know.  Let  her 
take  the  dog." 

Her  brother  yielded,  and  she  went  on  with  Bull  and  the 
Master;  the  latter,  having  grown  a  little  wavering  and 
muddled  by  liquor,  taking  the  child's  hand. 

There  were  two  ways  to  the  village,  one  around  by  No. 
4,  the  other  more  direct  through  the  woods ;  the  distance 
by  the  former  was  nearly  four  miles,  by  the  latter,  as  we 
have  said,  about  two ;  and  at  the  present  season  of  the  year 


44  ajARGAUET. 

it  was  the  most  eligible.  This  they  took  ;  they  went 
through  the  Mowing,  traversed  a  beautiful  grove  of  wal- 
nuts, black-birches,  and  beeches,  and  came  to  the  Foot-bridge 
made  of  a  large  tree  lying  across  the  small  brook  Margaret 
encountered  on  her  way  to  the  Widow's.  This  stream, 
having  its  rise  among  the  hills  on  the  north  of  the  Pond,  at 
the  present  point,  flowed  through  a  deep  fissure  in  the 
rocks.  The  branches  of  the  tree  rose  perpendicularly,  and 
a  hand  rail  was  fastened  from  one  to  another. 

"  Danger  menaces  us,  my  child,"  sighed  the  Master. 

"  Give  me  one  of  your  hands,"  said  Margaret,  "  hold  on 
by  the  rail  with  the  other,  shut  your  eyes,  that  is  the  way 
Pa  does." 

"  How  it  shakes !  "  exclaimed  the  Master."  It  would  be 
dreadful  to  fall  here  !  How  deep  it  is  !  My  head  swims, 
my  brain  giddies,  I  am  getting  old,  Margaret.  Tempora 
mutantur  et  nos.  When  I  was  young  as  you  I  could  go 
any  where.  Facilis  descensus — ." 

"  You  can  hold  on  by  Bull,  he'll  keep  you  steady.  Here, 
Bull." 

The  well-trained  dog  came  forward,  and  the  Master 
leaning  on  this  tri-fold  support,  the  child's  arm,  the  rail,  and 
the  animal's  head,  accomplished  the  pass.  Their  course 
was  downward,  yet  with  alternate  pitches  and  elevations, 
now  by  a  sheep's  track,  now  across  a  rocky  ledge,  anon 
through  the  unbroken  forest.  The  fumes  of  the  liquor  sub- 
siding, and  the  path  becoming  more  smooth  and  easy,  the 
Master  spake  to  Margaret  of  her  dreams. 

Master.  "  Dreams  come  of  a  multitude  of  business,  says 
Solomon." 

Margaret.  "  What,  Solomon  Smith  ?  He  says  that 
great  folks  come  of  dreams,  that  children  will  die,  and  some 
be  rich ;  and  people  lose  their  cows,  and  have  new  gowns, 


45 


and  such  things.  I  dream  about  a  great  many  things, 
sometimes  about  a  pretty  woman." 

Mas.    "  A  pretty  woman !     Whom  does  she  look  like  ?  " 

Mar.     "  I  don't  know,  I  can't  tell  him." 

Mas.  "  You ;  always  say  you  to  me.  The  juveniles 
and  younkers  in  the  town  say  him.  How  does  she  seem  to 
you  ?  " 

Mar.  "  She  looks  somehow  as  I  feel  when  Ma  is  good 
to  me,  and  she  looks  pale  and  sorry  as  Bull  does  when 
Hash  strikes  him." 

Mas.     "  Where  do  you  see  her  ?  " 

Mar.  "  Sometimes  among  the  clouds,  and  sometimes  at 
the  foot  of  the  rainbow." 

Mas.     "  That  is  where  money  grows." 

Mar.  "  Not  money,  it  is  flowers,  buttercups,  yellow 
columbine,  liverleaf,  devil's  ears,  and  such  as  I  never  saw 
before." 

Mas.  "  Arum,  the  Arum !  Your  covetous  friend  Obed 
won't  like  it  if  you  get  those  flowers." 

Mar.  "His  mother  wants  to  know  what  the  woman 
does ;  if  she  makes  plasters  out  of  the  flowers,  and  if  they 
will  cure  worms." 

Mas.  "Caustics  of  aures  diaboli!  The  Devil  is  no 
vermifuge,  tell  the  Widow.  Ha !  ha ! " 

Mar.  "  But  she  don't  speak  to  me ;  she  stands  on  the 
flowers,  and  breaks  them  off,  and  they  fly  away  like  little 
birds  ;  she  pricks  them  into  the  rainbow,  and  they  grow 
on  it." 

Mas.     "  Are  you  not  afraid  of  her  ?  " 

Mar.    "  She  tells  me  not  to  be." 

Mas.     "  You  said  she  did  not  speak  to  you." 

Mar.  "  She  don't  speak,  but  she  tells  me  things,  just 
as  Bull  does.  He  don't  speak,  but  he  tells  me  when  he  is 


46  MARGARET. 

hungry,  and  when  there  is  any  thing  coming  in  the  woods. 
Sometimes  she  kisses  me,  but  I  don't  feel  her.  She  goes 
up  on  the  rainbow,  and  I  follow  her.  I  see  things  like 
people's  faces  in  the  sky,  but  they  look  like  shadows,  and 
there  is  music  like  what  you  hear  in  the  pines,  but  there 
are  no  trees  or  violins.  She  steps  off  into  the  clouds.  I 
try  to  go  too,  and  there  comes  along  what  you  call  the 
egret  of  a  thistle,  that  I  get  on  to,  and  it  floats  with  me 
right  into  my  bed,  and  I  wake  up."  So  they  discoursed 
until  they  issued  from  the  woods,  in  what  was  known  as 
"  Deacon  Hadlock's  Pasture,"  an  extensive  enclosure 
reaching  to  the  village,  which  it  overlooked. 

The  village  of  Livingston  lay  at  the  junction  of  four 
streets,  or  what  had  originally  been  the  intersection  of  two 
roads,  which,  widening  at  the  centre,  and  having  their 
angles  trimmed  off,  formed  an  extensive  common  known  as 
the  Green.  In  some  points  of  view,  the  place  had  an 
aspect  of  freshness  and  nature ;  extensive  forests  meeting 
the  eye  in  every  direction  ;  farm-houses  partially  hidden  in 
orchards  of  apple-trees ;  the  roads  rough,  ungraded,  and 
divided  by  parallel  lines  of  green  grass.  Yet  to  one  who 
should  be  carried  back  from  the  present  time,  many  objects 
would  wear  an  old,  antiquated  and  obsolete  appearance  ; 
the  high-pitched  roofs  of  some  of  the  houses,  and  jutting 
upper  stories  ;  others  with  a  long  sloping  back  roof;  chim- 
neys like  castles,  large,  arched,  corniced.  Here  and  there 
was  a  house  in  the  then  new  style,  three-storied,  with  gam- 
brel  roof  and  dormar  windows.  The  Meeting-house  was 
not  old,  but  would  now  appear  so,  with  its  slim,  tall  spire, 
open  belfrey,  and  swarm  of  windows.  There  were  Lora- 
bardy  poplars  on  the  Green,  now  so  unfashionable,  waving 
like  martial  plumes  ;  and  interspersed  as  they  were  among 
the  spreading  willow-like  elms,  they  formed  on  the  whole 


LIVINGSTON.  47 

not  a  disagreeable  picture.  South  of  the  Green  was  the 
"  Mill  "  on  Mill  Brook,  before  adverted  to ;  this  was  a  dis- 
tinct cluster  of  houses.  Beyond  the  village  on  the  east  you 
could  see  the  Kiver,  and  its  grassy  meadows. 

Livingston  was  the  shire  town  of  the  county  of  Stafford, 
having  a  Court-house,  square  yellow  edifice  with  a  small 
bell  in  an  open  frame  on  the  roof ;  and  a  Jail,  a  wooden 
building  constructed  of  hewn  timber.  The  Green  contain- 
ed in  addition  a  pair  of  Stocks,  a  Pillory  and  Whipping  Post ; 
also,  a  store,  school-house  tavern,  known  as  the  "  Crown 
and  Bowl,"  and  barber's  shop*  The  four  streets  diver- 
ging from  the  centre  were  commonly  called  the  North,  East, 
South,  and  "West  Streets.  A  new  one  had  been  opened  on 
the  west  side  of  the  Green,  and  received  the  name  of  Grove 
Street.  Let  us  observe  the  situation  of  the  principal  build- 
ings. The  Meeting-house  stood  at  the  north-west  corner  of 
the  Green  ;  in  the  rear  of  this  were  the  Horse-sheds,  a  long 
and  conspicuous  row  of  black,  rickety  stalls,  having  the 
initials  of  the  owner's  name  painted  in  a  circle  over  each 
apartment;  at  the  east  end  of  the  sheds  was  the  School- 
house  ;  and  behind  them  terminated  an  old  forest  that 
•extended  indefinitely  to  the  north.  The  Tavern  occupied 
the  corner  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  West  street  with 
the  Green,  a  few  rods  from  the  church.  Below  the  tavern, 
flanking  the  west  side  of  the  Green,  in  succession,  were  the 
Court-house,  Jail,  and  Jail-house,  the  jail-fence  being  close 
upon  the  highway.  The  Pillory  with  its  adjuncts  stood 
under  the  trees  in  the  open  common  fronting  the  Court- 
house. 

Master  Elliman  lodged  with  the  Widow  Small,  who  lived 
on  the  South  Street.  In  this  slreet  reappeared  the  small 
stream  they  had  so  much  trouble  in  crossing  ;  to  which,  we 
may  add,  the  Master,  from  some  fancy  of  his  own,  gave 


48  MARGARET. 

the  name  Cedron  ;  and  the  path  by  which  they  came 
through  the  woods  he  called  Via  Dolorosa. 

Children  were  playing  on  the  Green,  the  boys  dressed  in 
"  tongs,"  a  name  for  pantaloons  or  overalls  that  had  come 
into  use,  and  roundabouts ;  some  in  skirt  coats  and 
breeches  ;  some  of  them  six.  or  eight  years  of  age  were 
still  in  petticoats.  The  girls  wore  checked  linen  frocks, 
with  short  sleeves,  and  pinafores.  All  were  bare-footed 
and  most  of  them  bare-headed.  "  He's  coming !  "  "  The 
Master !  "  was  a  cry  that  echoed  from  one  to  another. 
They  dropped  their  sports,  and  drew  up  in  lines  on  either 
side  as  the  object  of  their  attention  passed  ;  the  boys  folding 
their  arms  and  making  short  quick  bows  ;  the  girls  dove- 
tailing their  fingers  and  squatting  in  low  courtesies.  Mar- 
garet, with  Bull  at  her  heels,  kept  at  a  respectful  distance 
behind.  "  Moll  Hart,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  boys.  "  A 
Pond  Gal."  "  An  Injin,  an  Injin."  "  Where  did  you  get 
so  much  hat  ?  "  "  Did  your  daddy  make  them  are  clogs  ?  " 
So  she  was  saluted  by  one  and  another  ;  but  the  dog,  whose 
qualities  were  obvious  in  his  face,  if  they  had  not  been 
rendered  familiar  in  any  other  way,  saved  her  from  all  but 
verbal  insolence. 

The  Master's  was  a  ground  room  in  an  old  house.  It 
was  large,  with  small  windows  ;  the  walls  were  wainscoted, 
the  ceiling  boarded,  and  darkened  by  age  into  a  reddish 
mahogany  hue.  The  chairs  were  high-top,  fan-back,  heavy, 
mahogany.  A  bureau  desk  occupied  one  side,  with  its 
slanting  leaf,  pigeon-holes,  and  escutcheons  bearing  the 
head  of  King  George.  On  the  walls  hung  pictures  in  small 
black  frames,  comprising  all  the  kings  and  queens  of  Eng- 
land, from  William  the  Conqueror  to  the  present  moment. 
Margaret's  attention  was  drawn  to  his  books,  which  consisted 
of  editions  of  the  Latin  and  Greek  classics,  and  such  school 


THE  MASTER'S  ROOM.  49 

books  as  from  time  to  time  he  had  occasion  to  use  ;  and 
miscellanies,  made  up  of  works  on  Free-Masonry,  a  craft  of 
which 'he  was  a  devoted  member  ;  books  of  secular  and 
profane  music,  a  science  to  which  he  was  much  attached  ; 
various  histories  and  travels  ;  the  works  of  Bolingbroke, 
Swift  and  Sterne ;  the  Spectator  and  Rambler,  the  principal 
English  Poets  ;  Wolstoncraft's  Rights  of  Women,  Paine's 
Age  of  Reason^Lord  Monboddo's  works  ;  Tooke's  Pantheon  ; 
Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy ;  the  Echo,  by  the 
Hartford  "Wits,  the  American  Museum,  and  the  Massachu- 
setts Magazine ;  Trumbull's  McFingal,  The  Devil  on  Two 
Sticks,  Peregrine  Pickle  ;  Quincy's  Dispensatory  ;  Nurse 
Freelove's  New  Year's  Gift,  the  Puzzling  Cap,  the  "  World 
turned  upside  down."  He  gave  Margaret,  as  he  had 
promised,  "The  New  Universal  Spelling  Book,"  by 
"  Daniel  Fenning,  late  School  master  of  the  Bures  in 
Suffolk,  England." 

The  Store,  to  which  Margaret  next  directed  her  steps, 
was  a  long  old  two-story  building,  bearing  some  vestiges  of 
having  once  been  painted  red.  The  large  window-shutters 
and  door  constituted  advertising  boards  for  the  merchant 
himself,  and  the  public  generally.  Intermixed  with  articles 
of  trade,  were  notices  of  animals  found,  or  astray  ;  sales  on 
execution  ;  beeswax,  flax,  skins,  bristles  and  old  pewter, 
you  were  informed  would  be  taken  in  exchange  for  goods, 
and  that  "  cash  and  the  highest  price  would  be  given  for 
the  Hon.  Robert  Morris's  notes."  One  paper  read  as 
follows  :  "  You,  Josiah  Penrose,  of,  &c.,  are  hereby  per- 
mitted to  sell  400  gallons  W.  I.  Rum,  do.  Brandy,  140  Gin, 
and  260  pounds  of  brown  Sugar,  on  all  of  which  tlu-  excise 
has  been  duly  paid,  pursuant  to  an  Act  of  the  Legislature. 
(Signed)  )  Collector  of  excise  for  the 

WILLIAM  KINGSLAND,  j      County  of  Stafford." 
VOL.   i.  5 


50  MARGABET. 

There  was  also  on  the  door  a  staring  programme  of  a 
lottery  scheme.  Lotteries,  at  this  period  common  in  all 
New  England,  had  become  a  favorite  resort  for  raising 
money  to  support  government,  carry  on  wars,  build 
churches,  construct  roads,  or  endow  colleges.  There  was 
one  other  sign,  that  of  the  Post-office.  Entering  the  store 
you  beheld  a  motley  array  of  dry  and  fancy  goods,  crockery, 
hardware,  and  groceries,  drugs  and  medicines.  On  the 
right  were  rolls  of  kerseymeres,  callimancoes,  fustians, 
shaloons,  antiloons,  and  serges  of  all  colors  ;  Manchester 
checks,  purple  and  blue  calicoes  ;  silks,  ribbons,  oznaburg  s 
ticklenbergs,  buckram.  On  the  left  were  cuttoes,  Barlow 
knives,  iron  candlesticks,  jewsharps,  blackball^  bladders  of 
snuff ;  in  the  left  corner  was  the  apothecary's  apartment, 
and  on  boxes  and  bottles  were  written  in  fading  gilt  letters, 
"  Ens  Veneris,"  "  Oculi  Cancrorum,"  "  Aqua  seris  fixi," 
"  Lapis  Infernalis,"  "  Ext.  Saturn,"  "  Sal  Martis,"  &c. 
On  naked  beams  above  were  suspended  weavers'  skans, 
wheelheads,  &c.,  and  on  a  high  shelf  running  quite  around 
the  walls  twas  cotton  warp  of  all  numbers.  The  back 
portion  of  the  building  was  devoted  to  a  traffic  more  fashion- 
able and  universal  in  New  England  than  it  ever  will  be 
again  ;  and  a  long  row  of  pipes,  hogsheads  and  barrels, 
indicated  its  extent.  Above  these  hung  proof-glasses,  tap- 
borers,  a  measuring  rod,  and  decanting  pump  ;  interspersed 
on  the  walls  were  bunches  of  chalk-scores  in  perpendicular 
and  transverse  lines.  Near  by  was  a  small  counter  covered 
with  tumblers  and  toddy  sticks  ;  and  when  Margaret 
entered,  one  or  two  ragged  will-gill  looking  men  stood  there 
mixing  and  bolting  down  liquors.  Had  she  looked  into  the 
counting-room,  she  would  have  seen  a  large  fireplace  in 
one  corner,  a  high  desk,  round-back  arm-chairs,  and  several 
hampers  of  wine. 


A   GLIMSE   AT   THE   WORLD.  51 

Margaret  sat  waiting  for  two  young  ladies,  who  appeared 
to  hav.e  some  business  with  the  clerk.  These  were  Bethia 
"Weeks,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  village  squires,  and  Mar- 
tha Madeline  Gisborne,  the  daughter  of  the  joiner.  The 
clerk's  name  was  Abel  Wilcox. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Miss  Bethia,  "I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it." 

"  He  has  kept  steady  company  with  her  every  time  he 
has  been  in  town,"  responded  Miss  Martha  Madeline. 

"  As  if  every  upstart  of  a  lawyer  was  to  Captain  Grand 
it  over  all  the  girls  here,"  added  the  clerk. 

"I  don't  think  the  Judge's  folk  are  better  than  some 
other  people's  folk,"  said  Martha  Madeline. 

"  Susan  is  a  nice  girl,"  rejoined  Bethia. 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  they  were  cried  next  Sab- 
bath," said  Martha  Madeline. 

"  I  guess  there  will  be  more  than  one  to  cry  then,"  added 
Bethia. 

"  Now  don't ;  you  are  really  too  bad,"  rejoined  Abel. 

This  conversation  continuing  some  time,  was  unintelligi- 
ble to  Margaret,  as  we  presume  it  is  to  our  readers,  and  it 
were  idle  to  report  it. 

"  How  much  shall  I  measure  you  of  this  tiffany,  Matty  ?  " 
at  length  asked  Abel. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  not  take  any  now,"  replied  the  young 
lady.  "  You  give  three  shillings  for  cotton  cloth,  and  this 
is  nine  and  six,  a  yard  ;  I  declare  for't  I  shall  have  to  put 
to ;  and  I  must  get  some  warp  at  any  rate.  We  have  been 
waiting  for  some  we  sent  up  to  Brown  Moll's  to  be  colored, 
and  I  don't  think  it  will  ever  be  done." 

"  There's  young  Moll,  now,"  said  Abel,  pointing  to  Mar- 
garet. 

"  Has  your  Marm  got  that  done  ?  "  asked  Martha  Made- 
line. 


*>&  MARGARET. 

"  She  has  not,"  replied  Margaret. 
"  A  book,  a  book !  "   exclaimed  the  same  young  lady. 
"  The  Injin  has  got  a  book.      She  will   be   wise   as   the 
Parson." 

"  Can  you  say  your  letters  ?  "  asked  Bethia. 
,  "  Yes,"  answered  Margaret. 
"  Who  is  teaching  you  ?  " 
"  The  Master." 

"  Pshaw ! "  ejaculated  Martha  Madeline,  "  I  never  was 
at  school  in  my  life.  Now  all  the  gals  is  going ;  such  as 
can't  tell  treadles  from  treacle  have  got  books.  And  here 
the  Master  goes  up  to  that  low,  vile,  dirty  place,  the  Pond, 
to  larn  the  brats." 

Margaret  came  forward  and  stated  her  errand  to  the 
clerk. 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,  she  wants  rum,"  added  Martha  Made- 
line. "  Daddy  says  there  is  no  sense  in  it ;  they  will  all 
come  to  ruin  ;  he  says  Pluck  and  his  boys  drink  five  or 
six  glasses  a  day,  and  that  nobody  should  think  of  drinking 
more  than  three.  Parson  Welles  says  it's  a  sin  for  any 
family  to  have  more  than  a  gallon  a  week.  There's  Hope- 
still  Cutts,  he  has  been  kept  out  of  the  church  this  ten 
months  because  he  won't  come  down  to  half  a  pint  a  day." 
"  Never  mind,"  interposed  the  clerk,  "  I  guess  they  will 
find  their  allowance  cut  short  this  time,  ha!  ha!  Here 
ain't  eggs  enough,  gal." 

"  Ma'm  says  you  must  give  a  shilling  a  dozen,"  replied 
Margaret. 

"  Perhaps  your  Marm  will  say  that  again  before  we  do," 
rejoined  the  clerk.  "  Eggs  don't  go  for  but  ninepence  in 
Livingston  or  any  where  else." 

Margaret  was  in  a  dilemma ;  —  the  rum  must  be  had,  the 
other  articles  were  equally  necessary. . 


53 


"  Pa  will  pay  you,"  she  bethought  herself. 

"  No  he  won't,"  answered  the  clerk. 

"  Chilion  will  bring  you  down  skins,  axe-helves,  and 
whip-stocks." 

"  I  tell  you,  we  can't  and  won't  trust  you.  Your  drunken 
dad  has  run  up  a  long  chalk  already.  Look  there,  I  guess 
you  know  enough  to  count  twelve; — twelve  gallons  he 
owes  now.  You  are  all  a  haggling,  gulching,  good-for- 
nothing  crew." 

"  I  will  bring  you  chesnuts  and  thistle  down  in  the  fall," 
replied  Margaret. 

"  Can't  trust  any  of  you.  "What  will  you  take  for  your 
book?" 

"  I  can't  sell  it ;  the  Master  gave  it  to  me." 

"If  he  would  teach 'you  to  pay  your  debts  he  would  do  well." 

A  little  girl  came  in  about  the  age  of  Margaret,  and 
stood  looking  attentively  at  her  a  moment,  as  one  stranger 
child  is  wont  to  do  with  another;  then  lifting  Margaret's 
hat  as  it  were  inspecting  her  face,  said,  "  She  is  not  an 
Injin  ;  they  said  she  was  ;  her  face  is  white  as  mine." 
This  little  girl  was  Isabel  Weeks,  sister  of  Bethia. 
'  "  TIa,  Belle  ! "  said  the  latter,  "  what  are  you  here  for  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  see  the  Injin.  Have  you  got  a  book  too  ?  " 
she  said,  addressing  herself  to  Margaret.  "  Can  you  say 
your  letters  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Margaret,  "but  they  want  it  for  rum." 

"  That's  wicked  ;  I  know  it  is.  Ma  wouldn't  let  me 
give  my  spelling-book  for  rum.  I  have  threepence  in  my 
pocket — you  may  have  them." 

"  Save  a  thief  from  hanging  and  he  will  cut  your  throat," 
said  Martha  Madeline. 

"  Can't  bore  an  auger  hole  with  a  gimlet,"  interjected 
Abel  ;  "  two  threepences  won't  be  enough,  Miss  Belle." 


54  MARGARET. 

"  Judah  has  got  tenpence,  I'll  go  and  get  them,"  answered 
Isabel. 

The  dog  at  this  moment  seeing  the  trouble  of  his  mistress 
began  to  growl  and  the  young  ladies  to  scream. 

"  Out  with  your  dog,  young  wench,  and  go  home,"  cried 
the  clerk. 

"  Lie  down  Bull  1 "  said  Margaret.  "  Here,  sir,  you  may 
have  the  book." 

The  bargain  being  completed,  Margaret  took  her 
articles,  and  left  the  store  ;  and  Isabel  followed  her. 

The  two  children  went  across  the  Green  in  silence. 
Isabel  said  nothing,  but  with  her  pinafore  wiped  the  tears 
from  Margaret's  eyes.  She  was  too  young,  perhaps,  to  tell 
all  she  felt,  and  could  only  alleviate  the  grief  she  beheld  by 
endeavoring  to  efface  its  effects. 

Margaret,  happy,  unhappy,  fagged  up  the  hill  ;  she  had 
lost  her  book,  she  had  got  the  rum  ;  she  was  miserable 
herself,  she  knew  her  family  would  be  pleased ;  yet  she  was 
wholly  sad  when  she  thought  of  the  Master  and  then  of  her 
book.  She  left  the  highway  and  crossed  the  Pasture.  The 
sun  had  gone  down  when  she  reached  the  woods  ;  she  feared 
not  ;  her  dreams,  her  own  fresh  heart,  and  tin;  dog  were 
with  her.  The  shadow  of  God  was  about  her,  but  she 
knew  Him  or  It  not  ;  she  was  ignorant  as  a  Hottentot. 
She  came  to  the  bridge  ;  the  water  ran  deep  and  dark 
below  her.  "Who  will  look  into  her  soul  as  she  looked  into 
the  water?  Who  will  thread  the  Via  Dolorosa  of  her 
spirit.  For  the  music,  the  murmurs  of  that  brook,  there 
were  no  ears,  as  there  were  none  for  hers.  Yet  she  looked 
into  the  water,  which  seemed  to  hiss  and  race  more  merrily 
over  the  stones  as  she  looked.  She  heard  owls  and  frogs  ; 
and  she  might  almost  have  heard  the  tread  of  the  saturnine 
wood-spider,  at  work  in  his  loom  with  his  warp-tail  and 


GOES    HOME.  55 

shuttle-feet,  working  a  weft  which  the  dews  were  even  then 
embroidering,  to  shine  out  when  the  sun  rose  in  silver 
spangles  and  ruby  buds  ;  and  her  own  soul,  woven  as 
silently  in  God's  loom,  was  taking  on  impressions  from 
those  dark  woods,  that  invisible  universe,  to  shine  out  when 
her  morning  dawns.  Alas  !  when  shall  that  be  ;  in  this 
world,  in  the  next  ?  Is  there  any  place  here  for  a  pure 
beautiful  soul  ?  If  none,  then  let  Margaret  die.  Or  shall 
we  let  her  murmur  on,  like  the  brook,  in  hopes  that  some 
one  will  look  into  her  waters  and  be  gladdened  by  her 
sound  ?  She  ran  on  through  the  Chesnuts,  the  strange  old 
bald  trees  seeming  to  move  as  she  moved,  those  more 
distant  shooting  by  the  others  in  rapid  lines,  performing  a 
kind  of  spectral  pantomime.  Run  on,  Margaret !  and  let  the 
world  dance  round  you  as  it  may. 

When  she  reached  home,  she  found  the  family  all  a-bed, 
excepting  Chilion,  who  was  sitting  in  the  dark,  patiently, 
perhaps  doggedly,  waiting  for  her. 

He  gave  her  somewhat  to  eat,  and  she  went  to  bed,  and 
to  that  forgetfulness  which  kind  Nature  vouchsafes  to  the 
most  miserable. 


56  MARliAKET. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

RETROSPECTIVE    AND    EXPLANATORY. 

AT  this  day  of  comparative  abstinence  and  general  so- 
briety, one  is  hardly  prepared  to  receive  the  accounts  that 
might  be  given  of  the  consumption  of  intoxicating  liquors 
in  former  times.  In  the  Old  World,  drinking  was  culti- 
vated as  an  Art ;  it  was  patronized  by  courtiers,  it  fellow- 
shipped  with  rustics  ;  it  belonged  to  the  establishment,  and 
favored  dissent ;  it  followed  in  the  wake  of  colonial  migra- 
tion, and  erected  its  institutions  in  the  New  "World.  Con- 
temporary with  the  foundation,  it  flourished  with  the  growth 
and  dilated  with  the  extension  of  this  "Western  Empire. 
Herein  comes  to  pass  a  singular  historical  inversion ;  what 
we  rigorously  denounce  as  "  distilled  damnation,"  the  Pu- 
ritans cheerily  quaffed  under  the  names  of  "  Strong  Water," 
and  "  Aqua  Vitoe."  While  we  expel  rum  from  our  houses 
as  a  pestilence,  an  earlier  age  was  wont  to  display  it  with 
picturesque  effect,  and  render  it  attractive  by  environments 
of  mahogany  and  silver. 

In  Livingston  there  were  five  distilleries  for  the  manu- 
facture of  cider-brandy,  or  what  was  familiarly  known  as 
pupelo.  Tliere  was  also  consumed  a  proportionate  quan- 
tity of  alcoholic  liquors  of  other  kinds.  The  amount  an- 
nually required  for  a  population  of  about  twelve  hundred 
could  not  have  been  less  than  six  thousand  gallons.  It 
found  its  way  into  every  family,  loaded  many  sideboards, 
filled  innumerable  jugs ;  all  denominations  of  men  bowed 


RETROSPECTIVE.  57 

to  its  supremacy.  In  the  account  kept  with  Parson 
Welles  at  Deacon  Penrose's,  rum  composed  at  least  one 
half  the  items.  Master  Elliman,  as  we  have  seen,  was  not 
exempt  from  the  habits  of  his  age.  He  drank  constantly, 
and  at  times  excessively.  To  the  cheer  prevailing  at  the 
Pond  he  was  no  stranger.  His  botanical  excursions  were 
enlivened  and  relieved  by  the  humor  of  Pluck  and  the  lib- 
erality of  his  entertainment.  There  were  other  causes 
operating  to  bring  together  these  two  persons  of  qualities 
and  manners  in  some  respects  so  apparently  opposed.  On 
these  we  must  beg  the  patience  of  the  reader  while  we 
briefly  delay. 

The  first  permanent  settlement  in  Livingston  was  effected 
in  the  year  1677,  at  the  close  of  the  war  of  King  Philip  or 
Pometacom,  the  chief  of  the  Wampanoags.  The  original 
inhabitants  came  partly  from  the  old  colonies,  and  were 
reenforced  by  migrations  direct  from  Europe.  A  one-story 
log-house  with  thatched  roof  constituted  the  primitive 
church  edifice  ;  a  tin  horn,  in  place  of  a  bell,  being  used  to 
summon  the  people  to  worship.  What  is  now  known  as  the 
Green  early  became  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  on  the  four 
streets  before  mentioned  many  of  the  planters  established 
themselves.  The  town  underwent  and  survived  the  various 
incidents  and  vicissitudes  that  belong  to  our  national  his- 
tory; Queen  Anne's  war,  Lovell's  war,  the  Seven  Years' 
war,  incursions  from  the  Indians,  drafts  of  men  for  the 
frontiers,  small-pox,  throat-distemper,  Antinomianism,  New- 
lightism,  Scotch  Presbyterianism,  an  attempted  "  visit  from 
Whitefield,"  settling  ministers,  the  stamp-act,  succession  of 
sovereigns,  kings  in  England,  governors  at  home,  earth- 
quakes, tornadoes,  depreciation  of  currency,  taxes,  etc.,  etc. 
A  period  of  more  exciting  interest  approached.  The  ques- 
tion of  a  final  separation  from  the  mother  country  engaged 


58  MAKGAKET. 

all  minds.  Committees  of  Safety,  Inspection,  Vigilance  or 
Correspondence,  whatever  they  might  be  called,  were 
formed  in  every  village  ;  these  coperated  with  the  County 
Committees,  which  in  their  turn  became  auxiliary  to  those 
of  the  State.  "  The  towns,"  say  our  historians,  "  assumed, 
in  some  respects,  the  authority  of  an  individual  community, 
an  independent  republic.  The  Committee  met  daily  and 
acted  in  a  legislative,  executive  and  judicial  capacity.  All 
suspicious  persons  were  brought  before  them,  and  if  found 
guilty  were  condemned."  "  Numerous  arrests,  imprison- 
ments and  banishments  were  made."  "  The  Committee 
was  empowered  to  use  military  force.  Many  tories  and 
their  families  were  expelled  the  State,  and  others  required 
to  give  security  to  reside  in  prescribed  limits  ;  and  occa- 
sionally the  jails,  and  even  the  churches,  were  crowded 
with  prisoners,  and  many  were  sent  for  safe-keeping  to  the 
jails  of  neighboring  States."  An  "  Association,"  as  it  was 
termed,  covenant,  or  oath,  was  prepared  and  offered  for  the 
signatures  of  the  people  of  Livingston.  The  sessions  of  the 
court,  which  had  been  interrupted  elsewhere,  received  little 
or  no  disturbance  in  this  town.  Judge  Morgridge,  a  resi- 
dent of  the  place,  who  received  his  commission  under  the 
king,  and  faithfully  administered  the  old  laws  of  the  State, 
was  equally  devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  people.  News 
of  the  battle  of  Lexington  had  arrived  ;  Tony,  the  negro 
barber,  fiddler  and  drummer,  had  gone  through  the  streets 
at  midnight,  sounding  alarms  from  time  to  time. 

Court  week  came,  and  in  addition  to  such  scenes  as  for 
many  years  had  characterized  that  occasion — huckstering, 
wrestling,  horse-racing — at  the  present  moment  there  assem- 
bled great  quantities  of  people,  from  Livingston  itself,  and 
the  neighboring  towns,  who  were  animated  by  unusual 
topics.  There  was  little  business  for  the  functionaries  of 


EXPLANATORY.  59 

law,  and  more  for  the  officers  of  the  people.  The  County 
Committee  was  in  session.  Numbers  of  delinquents  were 
brought  from  various  parts,  and  lodged  in  the  jail.  The 
Crown  and  Bowl  was  filled  with  people,  among  whom  was 
Pluck.  While  others  were  drinking  to  the  Continental 
Congress,  he  toasted  the  king ;  when  rebuked,  he  replied 
in  some  wanton  language.  This,  in  addition  to  other  con- 
duct of  a  suspicious  nature,  exposed  him  to  the  action  of 
the  Committee,  before  which  he  was  taken  ;  that  body  con- 
sisting in  part  of  his  fellow-townsmen,  Deacon  Hadlock  and 
Mr.  Gisborne  the  joiner.  The  proceedings  in  his  case  may 
be  known  by  the  subjoined  extract  from  the  records  : — 

"  Livingston,  August  28th,  1775. 

"  Didymus  Hart  being  summoned  to  this  Committee,  on 
the  information  of  sundry  witnesses,  that  the  said  Hart  on 
the  27th  day  of  this  month,  had  violated  the  laws  of  the 
Continental  and  Provincial  Congress,  and  done  other  acts 
contrary  to  the  liberties  of  the  country,  appeared,  and  after 
due  proof  being  made  of  said  charge,  the  said  Hart  was 
pleased  to  make  a  full  confession  thereof,  and  in  the  most 
equivocal  and  insulting  manner  attempted  to  vindicate  said 
conduct,  to  wit : — 

1st.  "  Working  on  the  Public  Fast  recommended  by  the 
association  of  ministers. 

2d.  "  Speaking  diminutively  of  the  County  Congress,  in 
which  they  recommended  to  the  people  not  to  take  Hick's 
and  Mill's  paper. 

3d.  "Not  sufficiently  encouraging  people  to  sign  the 
Covenant. 

4th.  "  Saying  that  his  wife  had  bought  tea,  and  should 
buy  it  again,  if  she  had  a  chance. 

5th.   «  At  the  Ordinary  of  Mr.  Abraham  Stillwater,  with 


60  MARGARET. 

a  bowl  of  grog  in  his  hand,  drinking  to  the  success  of  the 
king's  arms. 

6th.  "  Saying,  '  by  G — d  if  this  people  is  to  be  governed 
in  this  manner,  it  is  time  for  us  to  look  out ;  and  'tis  all 
owing  to  the  Committee  of  Safety,  a  pack  of  supple-headed 
fellows,  I  know  two  of  them  myself. 

"  These  charges  being  proved  and  the  Committee  having 
admonished  said  Hart,  but  he  continuing  his  perverse 
course,  it  was  voted  that  said  Hart  is  an  enemy  to  his 
country,  and  that  every  friend  to  humanity  ought  to  for- 
sake said  Hart,  until  he  shall  give  evidence  of  sincere 
repentance  by  actions  worthy  of  a  man  and  a  Christian. 

(Signed)  " JAMES  GISBORNE,  Clerk" 

The  next  day  an  event  occurred  that  aroused  the  people 
still  more  against  Pluck.  Another  individual  in  town  had 
rendered  himself  obnoxious  to  public  sentiment.  This  was 
Colonel  Welch,  a  brother-in-law  of  Judge  Morgridge,  who 
had  derived  his  title  for  services  against  the  French  in  the 
Seven  Years'  war.  He  occupied  a  large  house  at  the 
head  of  the  "West  Street,  near  "  Deacon  Hadlock's  Pas- 
ture." He  refused  to  sign  the  Association,  and  used  lan- 
guage which  gave  the  people  cause  to  doubt  his  patriotism. 
He  declined  also  accepting  a  command  in  the  Continental 
army,  and  intimated  that  his  present  commission  could  not 
be  supplanted  or  nullified.  He  had  already  been  sum- 
moned before  the  Town  Committee,  where  his  replies  were 
not  satisfactory.  Further  measures  were  proposed. 

At  this  crisis  of  affairs,  late  in  the  evening,  Judge 
Morgridge  visited  his  brother-in-law,  and  informing 
him  of  what  was  in  progress,  suggested  that  he  had  no 
other  alternative  but  recantation  or  flight.  The  Colonel 
replied  that  the  former  he  would  not  do,  and  if  it 


RETROSPECTIVE.  61 

came  to  the  latter,  that  should  be  done  ;  and  with  his  family 
made  hasty  preparations  for  departure.  In  the  middle  of 
the  night  he  left  Livingston,  went  to  New  York,  whence 
he  ultimately  sailed  for  Nova  Scotia.  When  the  two  fami- 
lies had  indulged  those  tokens  of  regret,  speedily  finished, 
which  were  natural  to  the  occasion,  and  the  Colonel  was  on 
the  point  of  starting,  it  was  discovered  that  one  horse  de- 
layed, and  the  cause  was  soon  obvious.  Caesar,  a  servant 
of  Judge  Morgridge,  was  found  clinging  passionately  to 
Phillis,  the  servant  of  the  Colonel.  Such  a  moment  for  the 
expression  of  what  they  might  feel  was  certainly  most  in- 
opportune, and  the  lovers  were  unceremoniously  parted. 
The  next  morning,  Pluck  understanding  from  Caesar  what 
had  happened,  and  withal  as  we  say  now-a-days,  endeav- 
oring to  make  capital  out  of  the  fellow's  distress,  appeared 
on  the  Green,  and  more  than  half  in  liquor  made  boast 
of  toryism,  applauded  the  conduct  of  Colonel  "Welch, 
and  declaimed  on  the  cruelty  practised  towards  the  negro. 
Already  sufficiently  odious,  he  would  have  done  better  not 
to  trifle  with  an  indignant  populace.  He  was  declared  not 
only  inimical  but  dangerous,  and  by  order  of  the  Commit- 
tee was  confined  in  jail. 

Among  a  multitude  of  fellow-prisoners  Mr.  Hart  found 
one  of  whom  till  that  moment  he  had  known  but  little  ;  this 
was  his  townsman  and  subsequent  acquaintance,  Master 
Elliman.  This  gentleman,v  inveterately  attached  to  olden 
time,  without  reverence  for  the  people,  and  as  his  subse- 
quent conduct  would  indicate,  with  no  other  regard  for 
kings  than  what  consisted  in  a  preference  for  an  old  and 
long-established  state  of  things  over  any  new  projects  that 
might  be  started,  possibly  unwilling  to  have  his  quiet 
disturbed,  perhaps  averse  to  receiving  dictation  from  those 
whose  children  he  had  flogged,  or  who  themselves  may 

VOL.  i.  6 


62  MARGARET. 

have  been  under  his  thumb ;  certainly  we  have  reason 
to  believe,  from  no  conscientious  scruples  ;  this  gentleman, 
we  say,  received  the  Committee  who  waited  upon  him 
with  an  irritating  indifference,  and  refused  to  sign  the 
oath.  It  was  considered  unsafe  to  have  him  at  large, 
and  he  was  thrown  into  prison. 

Thus  commenced  an  intimacy  that  in  the  result  proved 
not  unfavorable  to  one  as  yet  unborn,  Margaret.  What- 
ever points  of  resemblance  might  exist  between  Pluck 
and  the  Master,  these  became  strengthened  by  their 
confinment  together,  and  contrariety  was  forgotten  in  a 
sense  of  common  sorrow.  The  cells  of  the  jail  were 
crowded,  comforts  did  not  overflow,  and  whatever  relief 
could  be  had  from  an  exchange  of  sympathies  the  con- 
victs would  naturally  betake  themselves  to.  In  the  end 
it  appeared  that  Pluck  and  the  Master  became  very  good 
friends,  and  the  visits  of  the  latter  to  the  Pond,  originating 
in  the  double  cause  which  has  now  been  related,  were 
in  after  years  not  infrequent.  Add  to  this  a  deep  and 
ingenuous  interest  in  Margaret,  and  we  shall  understand 
why  he  came  so  often  to  her  house,  and  exerted  himself 
so  readily  for  her  instruction.  The  durance  of  these 
recusants  lasted  no  more  than  two  or  three  months. — 
Pluck,  as  being  of  less  consequence,  was  released  almost 
on  his  own  terms.  In  the  Kidderminster  Chronicle 
appeared  the  following,  which  relates  to  the  Master : — 

"  Whereas  I,  the  subscriber,  have  from  the  perverseness 
of  my  wicked  heart  maliciously  and  scandalously  abused 
the  character  and  proceedings  of  the  Continental  and  Pro- 
vincial Congress,  Selectmen  of  this  town,  and  the  Com- 
mittees of  Safety  in  general,  I  do  hereby  declare,  that  at 
the  time  of  my  doing  it,  I  knew  the  said  abuses  to  be  the 
most  scandalous  falsehoods,  and  that  I  did  it  for  the  sole 


RETROSPECTIVE.  63 

purpose  of  abusing  those  bodies  of  men,  and  affronting  my 
townsmen,  and  all  the  friends  of  liberty  throughout  the 
Continent.  Being  now  fully  sensible  of  my  wickedness 
and  notorious  falsehoods,  I  humbly  beg  pardon  of  those 
worthy  characters  I  have  so  scandalously  abused,  and  vol- 
untarily renouncing  my  former  principles,  do  promise  for 
the  future  to  render  my  conduct  unexceptionable  to  my 
countrymen,  by  strictly  adhering  to  the  measures  of  Con- 
gress, and  desire  this  my  confession  may  be  printed  in  the 
Kidderminster  Chronicle  for  three  weeks  successively. 

"  BARTHOLOMEW  ELLIMAN. 
"  Test, 

Abraham  Stillwater, 

Josiah  Penrose, 

Nathan  Hadlock. 
"Livingston.,  JVbv.  23d,  1775." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MARGARET'S  OLDEST  BROTHER,  NIMROD,  COMES  HOME.  —  HE 
PROPOSES  A  VARIETY  OF  DIVERSIONS. 

NIMROD  made  his  annual  visit  to  his  father's.  "Where 
he  had  been,  or  what  he  did,  none  asked,  none  knew.  His 
appearance  would  indicate  the  sailor  and  the  horse-jock- 
ey ;  he  wore  a  tarpauling  and  blue  jacket,  high-top  boots 
with  spurs,  and  leather  trousers ;  he  flourished  a  riding 
stick,  commonly  known  as  a  cowhide,  and  had  large  gold 
rings  dangling  in  his  ears.  He  rode  a  horse,  a  cast-iron 
looking  animal,  thin  and  bony,  of  deep  gray  color,  called 
Streaker.  He  seemed  to  have  money  in  his  pocket,  as  he 
evidently  had  brandy  in  his  saddle-bags  and  humor  in  his 
soul.  He  brought  one  or  two  books  for  Margaret,  to  whom 
he  showed  great  attachment,  and  whose  general  manage- 
ment seemed  surrendered  to  him,  while  he  was  at  home. 
These  books  were  Mother  Goose's  Melodies,  National 
Songs,  and  Bewick's  Birds  with  plates.  He  gave  her,  in 
addition,  a  white  muslin  tunic  with  pink  silk  skirt.  Nina- 
rod  was  tall  in  person,  with  bluish,  lively  eye?,  light  hair 
and  a  playful  expression  of  face.  All  the  fn.nily  seemed 
delighted  with  his  return  ;  Pluck,  because  his  son's  temper 
was  congenial  with  his  own  ;  his  mother,  for  some  presents  ; 
Hash,  because  of  the  brandy  ;  Chilion  was  happy  to  see  his 
brother;  and  Margaret  for  obvious  reasons.  He  leaped 
from  his  horse  and  ran  to  Margaret,  who  met  him  at  the 
door  ;  raised  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her,  set  her  down,  took 
her  up  again,  made  her  leap  on  his  horse,  caught  her  off  and 


MARGARET.  65 

kissed  her  a  second  time.  "Can  you  spell  Streaker?" 
said  he,  which  she  did.  "  Ah,  you  little  rogue ! "  he  added, 
"  you  are  spruce  as  a  blue-jay." 

"  Has  the  Indian  come  yet  ?  " 

"  He  was  here  last  week." 

"  An't  you  afraid  of  him  ?  " 

"  No.  The  little  girl  that  was  with  him  gave  me  some 
apples." 

"  That's  you,  for  a  broad  joe  !  Never  be  afraid  of  any 
body,  or  any  thing,  two-legged  or  four-legged,  black,  white, 
blue  or  gray,  streaked  or  speckled,  on  the  earth  or  in  the 
air.  I  have  learned  that  lesson.  How  is  our  other  Mar- 
garet, the  Peach  tree  ?  " 

"Don't  you  see  what  beautiful  red  peaches  there  are 
on  it  ?  " 

"  Yea,  verily,"  as  the  Master  says,  "  this  is  like  a  wood- 
chuck  in  clover.  These  are  sweet  and  luscious  as  your 
cheek,  Margaret." 

Nimrod  ran  into  the  house,  and  out  to  the  cistern,  and 
towards  the  Pond,  and  up  the  Head.  He  shook  his  father's 
hand  heartily ;  to  his  mother  he  made  a  low  bow  ;  Hash 
.chuckled  and  grinned  at  sight  of  him,  and  Nimrod  laughed 
harder  in  response.  Chilion  greeted  him  cordially,  but  said 
little.  Bull  he  held  up  by  his  paws,  made  sundry  bows  and 
grimaces  to  the  dog,  and  talked  to  him  like  an  old  friend, 
so  that  Margaret  declared  the  animal  laughed. 

If  Nimrod  were  enjoying  a  furlough  or  vacation,  or  any 
thing  of  the  kind,  it  seemed  to  be  his  purpose  to  make  the 
most  of  it.  He  talked  of  the  meeting  in  the  woods,  a  tur- 
key hunt  the  next  moon,  a  husking  bee,  thanksgiving  ball, 
racing,  and  a  variety  of  things.  In  whatever  he  undertook, 
Margaret  was  his  constant  attendant ;  and  at  some  risk 
even,  he  carried  her  into  all  scenes  of  wildness,  exposure 
6* 


66  MEETING   IN    TUB   WOODS. 

and  novelty  ;  nor  can  it  be  said  she  was  loth  to  go  with  her 
brother. 

The  meeting  in  the  woods  was  the  first  in  order  of  time. 
This  practice,  imported  from  England,  began  to  flourish 
incipiently  in  our  country.  From  the  suburbs  of  old  cities, 
from  church-yards,  court-yards,  gardens,  the  scene  was 
transferred  to  pine  forests,  shady  mountains,  and  a  maiden 
greensward.  Heptenstall  Bank  was  revived  in  Snake 
Hill.  The  scoffing  Kentishmen  appeared  in  the  "Injins," 
No.  4's  and  Breaknecks.  -What  lived  in  Europe  must 
needs  luxuriate  in  America.  The  jumpers  of  Wales  were 
outdone  by  the  jerkers  of  Kentucky. 

The  meeting  was  to  be  held  in  the  district  we  have  be- 
fore spoken  of  as  Snake  Hill,  lying  four  or  five  miles  north 
of  the  Pond.  Nimrod  started  off  horseback,  with  Margaret 
behind  him  on  a  pillion.  Hash  and  Bull  went  afoot.  At 
the  Widow  Wright's,  they  found  that  lady  with  her  son 
mounting  their  horse, — a  small  black  animal  resembling 
the  Canada  breed,  called  Tim, — and  just  ready  to  proceed 
on  the  same  excursion.  The  Widow  was  solemn  and  col- 
lected, and  she  greeted  Nimrod,  for  whom  she  had  no  love, 
with  a  smile  that  a  susceptible  eye  might  have  construed 
into  coldness.  Tim,  the  horse,  had  a  propensity  for  drop- 
ping his  ears,  biting  and  kicking,  when  a  stranger  ap- 
proached. He  began  some  demonstrations  of  this  sort 
as  Nimrod  came  up.  Whether  Nimrod  regarded  this  an 
insult  on  Streaker,  or  was  nettled  at  the  manner  of  the 
woman,  or  to  gratify  his  own  evil  taste,  he  dealt  the  horse 
a  smart  blow  with  his  cowhide.  Tim  darted  off  at  full 
jump ;  insomuch  that  Obed  and  his  mother,  with  all  their 
use  to  his  back  and  manners,  had  much  ado  to  keep  their 
seat.  Nimrod  ambled  forward  about  a  mile  to  a  house 
known  as  Sibyl  Radney's,  where  he  overtook  the  Widow 


MARGARET.  67 

breathing  her  beast.  Sibyl  lived  alone  with  her  mother  in 
the  woods,  cultivated  a  small  farm,  kept  a  horse  and  cow, 
mowed,  cut  wood,  and  did  all  her  work  without  aid.  Her 
face  and  neck  were  deeply  browned,  her  arm  was  like  that 
of  a  blacksmith.  She  was  also  getting  ready  for  Snake 
Hill.  Nimrod  contrived  to  stimulate  the  three  horses  into 
a  race,  which  was  executed  in  a  manner  a  fox-hunter 
might  have  envied,  through  brambles,  over  stumps,  across 
ditches. 

The  spot  to  which  these  riders  directed  their  way  was 
in  a  forest  on  the  crown  of  a  hill.  A  circular  opening  had 
been  cut  among  the  trees  for  the  purposes  of  the  meeting. 
At  one  end  of  this  amphitheatre  was  the  pulpit,  constructed 
of  rough  boards  ;  about  the  sides  were  arranged  the  tents 
or  camps,  made  for  the  most  part  of  hemlock  boughs.  Slab 
seats  filled  the  area  between.  In  the  centre  of  the  whole 
was  a  huge  pile  of  wood  to  be  kindled  in  the  evening  for 
warmth  if  need  be,  or  for  light.  There  were  also  booths 
on  the  outside  for  the  sale  of  cider,  rum,  gingerbread,  and 
the  practice  of  various  games.  Here  were  assembled  peo- 
ple from  twenty  different  towns.  Nimrod  fastened  his 
horse  to  the  trees  amongst  scores  of  others.  The  Widow 
reminding  Nimrod  of  the  circumstances  of  the  place,  ad- 
monished him  of  his  recklessness.  "I  cal'late  God  is 
here,"  said  she,  "  and  you  had  better  not  be  pokin'  your 
fun  about."  Compassionating  the  dangerous  situation  of 
Margaret,  she  requested  that  she  might  be  delivered  to  her 
care.  Nimrod,  knowing  he  should  find  entertainment  of  a 
sort  that  would  not  be  agreeable  to  the  child,  yielded  her 
to  the  Leech.  He  and  Sibyl  went  towards  the  booths,  and 
Mistress  Wright,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  son,  leading 
Margaret,  entered  the  encampment.  Three  men  in  black 
occupied  the  pulpit,  their  heads  powdered,  with  white 
stocks  and  bands,  and  straight  square-cut  collars.  One  of 


68  MEETING    IN   THE    WOODS. 

them,  a  tall  bronze-complexioned  man,  was  addressing  the 
congregation. 

"  The  sacred  flame,"  said  he,  "  has  spread  in  Virginia. 
Brother  Enfield,  the  assistant  in  the  Brunswick  Circuit, 
conjectures  that  from  eighteen  hundred  to  two  thousand 
souls  have  been  converted  since  the  middle  of  May. 
Twelve  hundred  experienced  the  work  of  grace  in  Sussex; 
in  Amelia  half  as  many  more.  Many  Christians  had  severe 
exercises  of  mind  respecting  the  great  noise  that  attended 
this  work  of  God.  Some  thought  it  was  not  divine  ;  yet 
from  its  effects  they  dare  not  ascribe  it  to  Satan ;  but  when 
the  Lord  broke  in  upon  their  own  families,  they  saw  it  at 
once,  and  began  to  bemoan  their  own  hardness  of  heart. 
Many  gospel-hardened,  old,  orthodox  sinners,  have,  as 
mighty  oaks,  been  felled ;  and  many  high-towering  sinners, 
as  the  tall  cedars  of  Lebanon,  bowed  down  to  the  dust.  As 
many  as  fifteen  or  twenty  commonly  gave  up  in  a  day  un- 
der Brother  Staffin's  preaching,  who  is  indeed  a  Samson 
among  the  Philistines.  It  is  no  strange  thing  now  for 
children  down  to  seven  years  of  age  to  come  in." 

The  Preacher  then  digressed  in  a  strain  of  exortation 
designed  to  reproduce  effects  similar  to  those  he  had  re- 
counted. A  thunder  cloud  gathered  in  the  sky,  and  buried 
the  woods  in  darkness.  "  That,"  said  he,  "  is  the  shadow 
of  hell.  It  is  the  smoke  of  torments  that  ascendeth  up  for- 
ever and  ever."  The  thunder  burst  upon  the  camp,  its 
hollow  roar  reverberated  among  the  hills.  "  Behold !  " 
he  exclaimed,  "  God  proclaims  his  law  in  fire  and  smoke  !  " 
It  began  to  rain,  "  What !  "  continued  he,  "  can  you  not 
endure  a  little  wetting,  when  you  will  so  soon  call  for  a 
drop  of  water  to  cool  your  parched  tongues?"  Light- 
nings blazed  through  the  trees.  "The  great  day  of 
the  Lord  is  coming,  when  the  elements  shall  melt  with 


MARGARET.  69 

fervent  heat ;  the  heavens  shall  pass  away  with  a  great 
noise,  the  earth  also  shall  be  burned  up."  There  was  a 
movement  in  the  congregation.  "  Oh  my  soul !  "  "  Jesus 
savte  ! "  "  Glory  !  glory  !  "  rang  from  seat  to  seat.  •'  It 
is  the  Lord's  doings,  and  marvellous  in  our  eyes,"  ex- 
claimed one  of  the  men  in  the  pulpit.  Nimrod  and  his 
confreres  from  the  booths  ran  in  to  see  what  had 
befallen.  There  sat  Obed  waving  to  and  fro  in  his 
seat,  groaning,  and  calling  upon  his  mother.  "  Yes,  my 
son,"  exclaimed  the  latter  convulsively,  "  its  an  orful  time. 
God  has  come,  we  are  great  sinners.  I  han't  done  my  duty 
by  ye.  Parson  Welles  would  let  us  all  go  teu  hell  togeth- 
er." "  What  a  mercy,"  exclaimed  another,  "  we  can  come 
where  the  gospel  is  preached  !  "  "  O  Lord,  forgive  me," 
cried  a  third,  "  for  going  to  the  Univarsal  up  to  Dun- 
wich ;  I  do  believe  there  is  a  hell,  I  do  believe  there  is  a 
hell."  "  I  have  been  down  among  the  Socinians,"  echoed 
a  fourth.  "  God  be  praised  I  have  found  where  there  is 
some  religion  at  last.  Glory,  glory  !  "  • 

The  Preacher,  the  storm  and  the  effect  increased.  Some 
of  the  congregation  foamed  at  the  mouth,  others  fell  to  the 
ground  in  spasms  ;  the  color  of  their  faces  fluctuating  from 
white  through  purple  to  black ;  one  appeared  to  be  stran- 
gling and  gasping  for  life,  another  became  stiff,  rigid,  and  sat 
up  like  a  dead  man  on  his  seat;  there  were  sobs, 
shrieks,  and  ejaculations.  The  thunder  crashed,  as  if 
the  heavens  had  split  and  the  earth  would  give  way. 
There  was  a  stifled  groan,  a  shuddering  recoil  among  the 
people ;  the  Preacher  himself  seemed  for  a  moment 
stunned.  Margaret  screamed  to  the  top  of  her  voice,  which 
sounded  like  a  clarion  over  an  earthquake.  Nimrod  im- 
pulsively rushed  among  the  people,  dashed  Obed  from 
his  seat,  seized  Margaret  and  drew  her  out. 


70  MEETING   llf   THE    WOODS. 

The  Preacher  recovering  himself  as  he  observed  this 
movement,  "  Son  of  Belial ! "  he  broke  forth,  "  thinkest 
thou  to  stop  the  mighty  power  of  God  ?  Will  he  deliver 
that  child  into  thy  hand  as  he  did  the  children  of  Israel 
into  the  hand  of  Chushan-rishathaim  ?  Stop,  on  thy  soul, 
and  repent,  lest  ye  die." 

"  I  guess  I  shan't  die  before  my  time,"  retorted  Nimrod, 
"  nor  any  sooner  for  your  croaking,  old  Canorum.  The 
child  is  getting  wet,  and  she  is  sca't.  I  han't  li ved  in  the 
woods  to  be  skeered  at  owls." 

"  A  scoffer  ! "  "A  scoffer  !  "  one  or  another  exclaimed. 
The  people  began  to  look  up  and  about  them.  The  tide  of 
feeling  was  somewhat  diverted.  "  O,  there  will  be  mourn- 
ing, mourning,  mourning,"  &c.,  was  pealed  forth  from 
the  pulpit,  and  a  full  chorus  of  voices  chimed  in.  The 
Preacher  renewed  his  exhortations,  and  the  attention  of 
the  assembly  was  regained.  Groans  and  sobs  began  once 
more.  "  This  beats  the  Great  Earthquake  all  hollow,"  ex- 
claimed one  of  the  congregation.  "  Yes,"  echoed  the 
Preacher,  "  what  a  rattling  among  the  dry  bones."  "  O 
Lord !  "  cried  one  of  the  assistants,  "  send  an  earthquake, 
shake  these  sinners,  send  it  quick,  send  it  [now.  There 
were  near  four  hundred  converted  at  the  last  earthquake 
in  Boston."  "  O,  what  a  harvest  of  souls  ws  ehould  have, 
brother  !  "  rejoined  the  Preacher.  "  Help  me  with  your 
prayers,  brethren,  as  Aaron  and  Hur  did  Moses." 

In  due  time  these  exercises  closed.  After  supper  in  the 
evening  the  pile  of  wood  was  kindled,  pine  knots  were 
lighted  at  the  corners  of  the  pulpit ;  the  horn  blew  and  the 
people  reassembled.  Margaret  ran  off  into  the  woods  with 
her  dog  and  laid  down  under  a  tree,  her  head  resting  on 
the  flanks  of  the  animal,  and  her  feet  nestling  in  the  soft 
moss.  Nimrod  was  drinking  and  roistering  at  the  booths. 


MARGARET.  71 

At  the  close  of  the  evening  service,  the  people  dis- 
persed to  their  tents.  A  middle  aged  man,  Mr.  Palmer, 
from  the  Ledge,  happening  in  the  woods,  saw  Margaret 
asleep  under  the  trees,  took  her  in  his  arms,  carried  her 
into  one  of  the  tents,  and  gave  her  in  charge  of  his  wife. 
The  good  woman  with  one  hand  patted  Margaret  on  her 
head,  while  with  the  other  she  tended  her  own  with  a  pinch 
of  snuff,  and  asked  her  if  she  didn't  want  to  be  saved. 
Margaret  replied  that  she  didn't  know. 

"  The  spirit  is  here  mightily,"  said  the  woman,  taking  a 
fresh  pinch,  "  won't  you  come  in  for  a  share  ?  " 

"  It  won't  let  me,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  You  may  lose  your  soul." 

"  I  haven't  got  any." 

"  Mercy  on  me ! "  exclaimed  the  woman,  "  Don't  you 
know  the  devil  will  get  you  if  you  don't  come  in  ?  " 

"  It  won't,"  replied  Margaret,  '«  Bull  won't  let  it." 

"  What  will  you  do  when  all  the  little  boys  and  gals 
goes  up  a  singing  ?  " 

"  I'll  stay  at  home  and  hear  Chilion  play  on  the  fiddle, 
and  read  my  new  books." 
•  (t  Luddy  mussy  !  can  you  read  ?     Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Down  to  the  Pond." 

"  Han't  they  got  any  of  the  religion  at  your  house  ?  " 

"  No,  Ma'm,  they  drink  pupelo  and  rum." 

"  A  born  fool ! "  ejaculated  the  woman  with  herself.— 
"  But  she  can  read,  she  must  be  knowing.  Wonder  if  the 
power  is'nt  hi  her  ?  She  will  certainly  die,  and  she  an't 
no  more  ready  than  our  Rufus." 

The  people  began  to  crowd  into  the  tent,  among  whom 
were  Mistress  Wright  and  her  son  Obed.  The  widow  made 
immediately  for  Margaret,  who  with  Mistress  Palmer,  was 


72  MEETING    IN    THE    WOODS. 

sitting  on  the  straw  in  a  corner  apart.  She  heard  the  latter 
lady's  soliloquy,  and  added,  "  O  no,  I'm  afeered  she  anV 

"What's  the  matter  of  the  child?"  asked  Mistress 
Palmer. 

"  Don't  know  Harm,"  replied  the  Widow.  "  I  wish 
sutthin'  could  be  done  for  her,  she's  bred  in  orful  wicked- 
ness. Any  sick  up  your  way,  Miss  Palmer  ?  I've  brought 
a  few  yarbs  with  me.  If  we  could  only  keep  the  poor  sin- 
ners alive  long  enough  teu  save  their  souls  it  would  be  a 
marcy." 

The  speakers  were  interrupted  by  noises  in  the  tent,  into 
which  a  large  number  of  people  had  found  their  way,  who 
began  to  sing,  exhort  and  pray.  They  had  Obed  down  flat 
on  his  back.  The  mouth  of  the  lad  was  open,  his  eyes 
shut ;  he  shook  spasmodically,  he  groaned  with  a  deep  gut- 
tural guffaw.  Men  and  women  were  over  and  about  him  ; 
some  praying,  others  crying,  "  Glory  !  "  The  Preacher 
came  in,  a  bland  smile  on  his  face,  rubbing  his  hands ; 
"  Good  !  "  he  ejaculated  with  a  short,  quick  snap  of  the 
voice.  "  The  Lord  is  here,  Miss  Palmer,"  said  he. 

"  Yes  in  truth,  you  told  us  we  should  have  a  great  time," 
rejoined  the  woman.  "  But  see  this  gal,  I  wonder  if  any 
thing  can  be  done  with  her." 

"Ah!  my  little  lamb,"  said  the  Preacher,  taking  Marga- 
ret's hand  and  drawing  her  gently  towards  him.  "  Hope 
you  have  found  the  Savior,  you  are  old  enough  to  repent." 
Margaret  wrested  herself  from  him.  "  What's  the  matter, 
dear  ?  "  inquired  the  man.  "  You  are  not  one  of  the 
wicked  children  that  reviled  the  prophet,  and  the  bears 
came  out  of  the  woods  and  tare  them  in  pieces  ?  " 

"  I  an't  afraid  of  the  bears,"  replied  Margaret  pettishly. 

"  A  mazed  child  !  a  mazed  child !  "  exclaimed  Mistress 
Palmer. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  be  converted  ?  "  asked  the  Preacher. 


MARGABET.  73 

"  I  don't  like  you,  I  don't  like  you,"  replied  Margaret. 
"  You  hollered  so  and  scared  Obed,  he's  scared  now.  They 
are  hurting  him,"  she  said,  pointing  where  the  youth  lay. 
Darting  from  her  company,  she  penetrated  the  crowd  and 
knelt  down  by  the  side  of  Obed.  "  Poor  Obed !  "  she  said, 
"  dont  make  such  a  noise,  Molly  is  here." 

*'  I  am  going  to  hell,"  hoarsely  and  mournfully  replied 
the  boy. 

"  The  arrows  of  the  Almighty  are  thick  upon  him," 
ejaculated  the  Preacher. 

"  If  the  Lord  would  only  grant  him  deliverance  !  "  said 
his  mother,  looking  through  the  crowd. 

"  Pray,  brother,  pray,  sister,"  said  the  Preacher,  ad- 
dressing one  and  another.  "  Jacob  wrestled  all  night  in 
prayer  with  God.  The  Ark  is  now  going  by.  Three  have 
already  closed  with  the  offers  in  Dunwich  tent." 

"  Don't  cry  so,  Obed,"  said  Margaret.  "  They  shan't 
hurt  you." 

"  The  devil  is  in  that  child,  take  her  away,"  said  the 
Preacher. 

Some  one  endeavored  to  pull  her  off.  "  Let  me  alone, 
she  exclaimed,  "  I  can't  go,  I  won't  go,"  and  she  adhered 
to  the  boy,  whose  arm  had  become  closed  about  her  neck 
as  that  of  a  man  in  a  fit. 

There  was  a  hubbub  of  voices  ;  men  and  women  reeking 
with  excitement,  and  vicing  one  with  another  who  should 
pray  the  most  importunately. 

"  What  are  ye  doing  here  ?  "  shouted  a  still  louder  voice 
over  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  It  was  Nimrod,  who  half  in- 
toxicated thrust  himself  among  them.  "  Bite  um  Bull, 
bite  um,"  he  rubbed  the  dog's  ears  and  holding  him  between 
his  legs,  teased  him  into  a  piercing  yelp  and  howl  that  star- 
tled the  people. 

VOL.  i.  7 


74  MEETING   IN   THE   WOODS. 

«  Bull !  Bull !  "  shrieked  Obed.  «  He's  comin',  he'll  bite." 
The  lad  sprang  to  his  feet  staring  wildly  about. 

"  Satan  has  come  in  great  wrath,"  cried  the  Preacher. 

"And  I  guess  you  know  as  much  about  him  as  any 
body,  old  Cackletub  !  "  rejoined  Nimrod.  "  You  set  them 
all  a-going,  and  then  snap  them  up  like  a  hawk." 

"  Hoora !  "  shouted  another  of  the  scoffers  from  the  others' 
side  of  the  tent.  "I  hearn  him  comin'  down  a  tree  jest 
now  ;  look  out  or  he'll  be  in  your  hair,  white-top." 

Meanwhile  the  uproar  deepened,  profanity  and  fanati- 
cism, like  opposing  currents  of  air,  meeting  in  that  confined 
space,  wrapped  the  scene  in  confusion  and  dismay ;  lights 
were  extinguished,  friends  and  enemies  tore  at  each  others' 
throats  ;  Sibyl  Radney,  alone  collected  and  resolute,  drew 
Margaret  from  the  midst,  and  returned  with  her  to  the 
Pond. 


NOVEL   ADVENTURE.  75 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MARGARET    SUCCESSFUL   IN   A  NOVEL  ADVENTURE. 

A  FEW  days  afterwards,  there  came  to  the  Widow 
"Wright's  Mr.  Palmer  from  the  Ledge,  the  man  who  found 
Margaret  in  the  woods  and  delivered  her  to  his  wife.  He 
purchased  of  the  Widow  a  prescription  for  his  daughter 
Rhody,  who  he  said  was  not  in  strong  health,  and  then 
stated  that  his  family  had  been  troubled  for  want  of  water, 
and  intimated  a  conjecture  of  his  wife  that  Margaret  was 
one  in  whom  resided  the  faculty  of  discovering  it,  and  asked 
the  Widow  if  she  would  accompany  him  to  Pluck's,  and 
aid  in  procuring  the  services  of  the  child  for  the  purpose 
indicated.  They  went  to  the  Pond,  where  Mr.  Palmer 
gained  the  consent  of  the  family  to  his  object,  and  especial- 
ly that  of  Nimrod,  who  evinced  a  positive  delight  in  the 
project,  and  even  volunteered  to  be  Margaret's  gallant  on 
the  occasion.  They  all  proceeded  together,  accompanied 
by  the  Widow,  who  suggested  that  her  personal  attention 
might  be  of  benefit  to  Rhody.  The  Ledge  was  six  or 
seven  miles  from  the  Pond.  It  was  properly  speaking  a 
marble  quarry,  and  belonged  to  Mr.  Palmer,  who  with  his 
sons,  in  addition  to  a  large  farm  they  carrje4  oq,  some- 
times worked  at  gravestones  and  hearths. 

Mr.  Palmer  was,  in  popular  phrase  a  forehanded  man, 
his  house  and  barns  were  large,  and  his  grounds  in- 
dicated thrift.  He  had  three  eons,  Roderick,  Alexan- 
der and  Rufus,  stout,  vigorous  boys ;  and  one  daughter 
Rhody,  about  seventeen,  a  fair-looking,  black-haired  girl. 


76  MARGARET. 

This  family  were  obliged  to  fetch  their  water  from  a 
considerable  distance,  not  having  been  able  to  find  a 
spring  near  the  house.  Agreeably  to  the  doctrines  of 
rhabdornancy,  formerly  in  vogue,  and  at  the  present  mo- 
ment not  entirely  discarded,  a  twig,  usually  of  witchhazle, 
borne  over  the  surface  of  the  ground,  indicates  the  pres- 
ence of  water  to  which  it  is  instinctively  alive,  by  stirring 
in  the  hand.  The  number  of  persons  would  seem  to  be 
small  in  whom  this  power  is  lodged,  or  through  whom  the 
phenomenon  exhibits  itself.  It  appeared  that  the  neigh- 
borhood had  been  canvassed  for  an  operator,  but  none  suc- 
ceeded. It  occurred  to  Mistress  Palmer,  at  the  camp,  that 
Margaret  might  be  endowed  with  the  rare  gift,  and  she  was 
accordingly  sent  for. 

The  family  at  the  Ledge  showed  great  joy  on  the  arrival 
of  t*ie  party  from  the  Pond.  Mistress  Palmer  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff,  and  helped  Margaret  from  the  horse,  and  even  re- 
ceived Nimrod  kindly,  although  his  pranks  at  the  meeting 
might  have  operated  to  his  prejudice.  The  large  pewter 
tankard  of  cider  was  passed  round,  but  Margaret  refused 
to  taste,  saying  she  should  prefer  water.  "  Dear  me  !  we 
hav'nt  a  drop  of  decent  water  in  the  house,"  exclaimed 
Mistress  Palmer.  "The  gal  shall  have  some  milk,  the 
best  we  have  ;  Rhody  get  some  of  the  morning's ;  pour  it 
out  cream  afld  all."  Of  this  Margaret  drank  freely.  "Poor 
thing  ! "  ejaculated  the  lady,  "  she  don't  know  as  she  has 
got  a  soul,  and  our  Rufus  is  nigh  as  bad,  for  he  won't  do 
nothing  to  save  his." 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Marm,"  rejoined  Rufus,  her 
youngest  son,  about  twelve  or  fourteen  years  of  age  ;  "  1 
an't  going  to  have  that  old  preacher  whining  and  poking 
about  me.  I  believe  I  can  get  to  heaven  without  his  help  ; 
if  I  can't,  then  I  am  willing  to  stay  away." 


NOVEL   ADVENTURE.  77 

"  Well,  well,  child,"  replied  the  mother,  "  I  shall  not  care 
how,  if  you  get  there  at  all,  only  I  want  you  to  be  a  good 
boy."  She  took  a  large  pinch  of  snuff.  These  prelimina- 
ries being  settled,  and  Margaret  having  received  her  in- 
structions to  hold  the  stick  firmly  and  tell  when  it  moved, 
proceeded  on  her  duty.  She  made  sundry  gyrations,  she 
traversed  the  grounds  about  the  house,  she  tried  the  gar- 
den, but  effected  nothing.  "It  is  too  wet,"  said  one  ;  "  it 
is  too  cold,"  said  a  second ;  "  it  is  too  dry,"  said  a  third ; 
"  it  is  too  warm,"  said  a  fourth.  Mistress  Palmer  took  a 
pinch  of  snuff.  Another  trial  was  proposed.  The  child 
went  farther  from  the  house,  and  perambulated  the  orchard. 
All  looked  on  with  a  breathless  interest ;  she  moved  about 
slowly  and  carefully,  the  stick  held  horizontally  forward  hi 
her  two  fists  —  a  little  diviner,  in  green  rush  hat  and  In- 
dian moccasons  ;  the  wind  shook  her  brown  curls,  her  blue 
checked  pinafore  streamed  off  like  a  pennon.  Did  they  do 
wrong  to  use  a  little  creature  so  ?  Yet  is  not  God  useful  ? 
Is  not  Utility  the  sister  of  Beauty  ?  At  last  she  cried  out 
that  it  moved.  Mr.  Palmer  hastened  forward  and  struck 
his  spade  into  the  spot;  Margaret  ran  off.  Presently 
there  were  signs  of  water,  then  it  bubbled  up,  then  it 
gushed  forth  a  clear  limpid  stream.  Mr.  Palmer  praised 
God.  The  boys  hoora'd.  Mistress  Palmer  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff. 

"  Taste  on't,  Alek,"  said  Rufus. 

"  No,"  replied  the  father.     "  It  belongs  to  the  finder  to 
be  the  first  taster.     The  gal,  where  is  she  ?  " 

Rufus  was  despatched  for  Margaret.  He  found  her  at 
the  quarry  trying  to  get  a  harebell  that  grew  far  above  her 
head.  The  boy  crouched  under  her,  and  she,  stepping  on 
his  shoulders,  reached  the  flower.  When  she  would  have 
descended,  Rufus  fastened  his  arms  about  her  and  bore  her 
7* 


78  MARGARET. 

off  on  his  back,  pappoose-like.  Approaching  the  spot  where 
the  water  was  found,  she  leaped  down  and  scampered 
around  the  house ;  Rufus  pursued,  she  laughed,  he  laughed, 
and  full  of  frolic,  he  brought  her  to  the  spring.  She  said 
she  was  not  dry  and  would  not  drink,  and  would  have  run 
away  again  ;  when  Nimrod  prevailed  with  her  to  the  end 
desired.  Then  they  all  drank,  and  pronounced  it  excel- 
lent water.  Mistress  Palmer  said  it  was  soft  and  would 
wash  well ;  Mistress  Wright  declared  it  was  nice  to  boil 
mint  in ;  Alexander  didn't  care  if  he  hadn't  to  lug  any 
more  from  the  brook.  All  were  satisfied,  and  Margaret 
became  a  wonder. 

A  sumptuous  home-made  dinner,  with  suet  Indian-pud- 
ding and  molasses  for  dessert,  was  served  on  bright  pewter 
plates  with  stag-horn  knives  and  forks.  After  this,  Rufus 
brought  Margaret  a  marble  flower-pot  he  had  made,  also  a 
kitten  very  well  executed,  which  he  had  cut  from  the  same 
material.  Rhody  gave  her  a  root  of  the  Guelder  rose. 
Mr.  Palmer  paid  the  Widow  handsomely  for  her  visit  to 
hia  daughter,  whose  case  she  elaborately  investigated. 
He  offered  money  to  Nimrod,  who  refused  it.  Mistress 
Palmer  presented  Margaret  with  a  roll  of  beautiful  linen  of 
her  own  manufacture. 

"  Thank  Miss  Palmer,"  said  Nimrod  to  his  sister. 

"  O  no!"  exclaimed  the  lady.  "  Take  it  and  welcome, 
and  any  thing  we  have  got.  But  do,  my  young  friend," 
she  added  as  he  was  mounting  his  horse,  "  do  think  on  your 
ways,  strive,  strive,  who  knows  but  you  may  find  the  good 
thing  at  last  ?  And  the  little  gal — she  is  a  good  child  as 
ever  was.  It  was  very  kind  of  her  to  come  all  the  way  up 
here,  and  do  us  a  service.  She  is  worth  her  weight  in 
gold.  I  hope  she  will  have  a  new  heart  soon.  "  Here," 
she  continued,  "let  me  help  you  on."  Margaret,  scarcely 


NOVEL    ADVENTURE.  79 

touching  the  woman's  hand,  sprang  to  the  pillion.  "  Why, 
how  she  jumps  !  She  is  as  spry  as  a  cricket.  How  pretty 
she  does  look  up  there  behind  you ;  I  must  have  a  kiss  at 
her, — there — remember  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy 
youth — and  don't  you  forget,  my  young  friend. — Good 
day." 

"  I  want  Rhody  to  kiss  me/'  said  Margaret. 

"  Run  Rhody,"  said  her  mother. 

"  Did  Rhody  kiss  you?"  asked  Nimrod,  when  they  had 
gone  on  a  while  without  saying  any  thing. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 


80  MAKGAKET. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THANKSGIVING,    OR   NEW  ENGLAND'S  HOLIDAY. — MARGA- 
HET   HAS    HER    DIVERSION. 

IT  is  noticeable  that  we  of  the  present  age  have  fewer 
holidays  than  our  puritanical  ancestors.  "  The  King's 
Birth  Day  "  was  formerly  celebrated  with  great  pomp  ;  in 
addition  there  were  enjoyed  "  Coronation  Days,"  the 
"  Birth  of  a  Prince,"  Accessions  and  Burials  of  Governors, 
Victories  in  War,  Masonic  Festivals,  to  say  nothing  of 
Military  Reviews,  Election  Days,  Ordination  of  Ministers, 
Executions  for  Murder;  and  at  a  still  later  period  Wash- 
ington's Binli  Day,  now  almost  forgotten,  and  the  Fourth 
of  July,  at  present  diverted  to  a  Sunday-school  or  Temper- 
ance Festival.  But  of  Thanksgiving;  a  day  devoted  to 
mirth,  gratefulness,  hospitality,  family  love,  eating,  drink- 
ing ;  a  day  sometimes  externally  snowy,  drizzly,  benumb- 
ing, drenching;  internally  so  elastic,  smiling,  lurk-like,  ver- 
dant, blithe  ;  it  is  not  sanctified  or  squandered  like  Merry 
Christmas  in  the  Old  World :  it  has  no  gooding,  candles, 
clog,  carol,  box,  or  hobby-horse  ;  it  has  no  poetry  or  song  ; 

does  not  come  in  the  calendar,  only  by  the  Governor's 
proclamation  ;  New  Englanders  can  sing  with  Old  Eng- 
landers,  mutatis  mutandis : — 

"  Now  thrice  welcome  Christmas, 

Which  brings  us  good  cheer, 
Minced  pies,  plum  porridge, 

Good  ale,  and  strong  beer, 
With  pig,  goose  and  capon, 

The  best  that  may  be." 


THANKSGIVING.  81 

They  cannot  add,  — 

"  With  holly  and  ivy 

So  green  and  so  gay, 
We  deck  up  our  houses 

As  fresh  as  the  day, 

With  bays  and  rosemary 

And  laurel  complete." 

Our  houses  and  churches  are  brown  and  sear  as  the  gar- 
dens and  orchards  about  them.  The  cedar  may  be  green 
in  the  woods,  the  box-tree,  the  fir  and  the  pine  together, 
we  never  use  them.  In  both  cases,  there  is,  or  was,  an 
abundance  of  wassailing,  dancing,  gaming,  shooting,  and  if 
one  pleases  to  say,  "  Heathenrie,  Divelrie,  Dronkennesse, 
Pride."  We  have  no  budding  oak  or  holy-thorn,  which 
sprang  from  the  staff  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  and  bears 
milk-white  blossoms  every  Christmas  day,  in  the  forests  of 
Glastonbury  ;  although  no  doubt  such  trees  might  be  found 
in  our  woods.  Unlike  Christmas,  bread  baked  Thanksgiv- 
ing Eve  moulds  never  the  slower.  Yet,  bating  ecclesiasti- 
cal days  and  a  few  calendar  superstitions,  which  the  dis- 
senting Colonists  left  behind,  how  much  did  they  not  bring 
with  them  from  their  native  soil !  "  We  owe,"  says  the 
Democratic  Review,  "  our  political  institutions,  and  nearly 
all  the  arrangements  of  our  public,  social  and  domestic  life, 
to  our  English  ancestors."  In  addition  to  religion,  lan- 
guage, habits,  costume,  fashions,  science,  art,  architecture, 
agriculture,  the  military  and  naval  art,  horses,  carriages, 
cows,  sheep,  grass,  bells,  knives  and  forks,  glass  ware, 
apples,  etc.,  etc.,  there  floated  across  the  sea,  and  has  de- 
scended the  stream  of  Time,  idiosyncrasies  of  temper,  idioms 
of  speech,  rhetorical  figures,  colloquial  metaphors,  an  entire 
dialect  of  vulgarisms,  ballads,  madrigals,  maxims,  witti- 


82  MARGAKET. 

cisms,  witchcraft,  bigotry,  omens,  a  thousand  and  one  fanci- 
ful calculations  on  the  moo:i,  the  weather,  beasts,  birds, — a 
whole  argosy.  Some  of  these  may  be  traced  to  the  Saxons 
and  Britons,  in  unbroken  succession.  They  still  exist  in 
England,  Germany,  Sweden,  nay,  every  where.  We  must 
look  perhaps  for  some  great  Oriental  centre,  some  fountain 
head  beyond  the  Indus.  The  fathers  of  the  Sanscrit,  the 
authors  of  the  Vedas,  the  original  Brahmins,  whoever  they 
may  have  been,  possibly  the  step-sons  of  Noah,  seem  to 
have  given  population,  language,  law,  philosophy,  supersti- 
tion, and,  saving  Christ,  religion  to  the  world. 

John  Bull  and  Brother  Jonathan,  a  North  Briton  and  a 
Yankee,  have  the  same  flesh  and  blood,  the  same  corpus- 
cular ingredients,  the  same  inspiration  of  the  Almighty. 
The  latter  differs  from  the  former  chiefly  in  this,  breadth  ; 
his  legs  are  longer  and  his  feet  larger,  because  he  has 
higher  fences  and  steeper  hills  to  climb,  and  longer  roads 
to  travel ;  he  is  more  lank  because  he  has  not  time  to 
laugh  so  much,  since  it  takes  him  so  long  to  go  to  mill,  to 
pasture,  and  the  neighbors ;  he  is  less  succulent  and  oozy 
because  he  gets  dry  and  hardened  in  the  extensive  tracts 
of  open  air  he  has  to  traverse  ;  he  is  more  suspicious  be- 
cause in  his  circuits  he  meets  with  more  strangers ;  he  is 
more  curious  for  the  same  reason  ;  he  is  more  inventive  and 
calculating  for  this  same  breadth,  having  no  a'ds  at  hand, 
and  depending  entirely  on  himself;  his  eye  is  keener  be- 
cause he  sees  his  objects  at  a  greater  distance  ;  he  is  more 
religious  because  he  has  farther  to  go  for  his  religion,  that 
is  to  say,  tojjnueting  ;  men  valuing  what  costs  them  much  ; 
— the  whole  difference  is  breadth,  interminable  forests, 
rivers,  mountains,  platitudinous  farms,  families  reaching 
fro.n  the  M  idawaskato  the  Yazoo.  The  same  cause  oper- 
ates to  distinguish  the' Kentucky  hunter  from  the  Yankee, 


THANKSGIVING.  83 

cypress  swamps,  alligators,  catamounts,  the  Indians,  the 
Mississippi.  Sam  Slick  is  an  elongated  and  skinny  John 
Browdie,  and  David  Crockett  is  the  same  "  critter," 
knobbed  and  gnarled. 

Thanksgiving  was  an  and- Christ  mas  festival,  established 
as  a  kind  of  off-set  to  that.  Yet  both  are  a  fealty  paid  to 
the  universal  gala  sentiment.  We  cannot  always  work,  we 
cannot  always  pray.  So  say  young  and  old,  grave  and  gay. 
Hence,  Hindoo  Doorga,  Celtic  Juul,  Jewish  Succoth,  Ja- 
panese Majira,the  Panathensea,  Fetedes  Fous,  Volks-fest, 
Carnival,  Halloween,  Christmas,  Thanksgiving. 

Thanksgivings  have  been  observed — what  do  we  say  ? 
The  first  Thanksgiving  must  have  been  of  God's  own  or- 
daining about  the  beginning  of  the  new  year  1621,  that  is 
to  sav,  the  25th  of  March,  at  New  Plymouth,  after  a  dis- 
mal winter  of  destitution,  disease  and  alarm,  when  the 
snows  were  melting,  and  "  brooks  of  sweet  fresh  water" 
bro^e  loose,  the  children  found  a  new  May-flower  peeping 
from  the  dead  leaves,  the  buds  of  the  dogwood  began  to 
swell  and  the  birds  to  sing,  the  "sick  and  lame  recovered 
apace,"  and  the  Colonists  saw  something  that  looked  like 
living  and  home.  The  first  Thanksgiving  "  by  authority" 
was,  if  we  are  agreed,  June  13,  1632.  We  can  hardly  call 
that  a  New  England  Thanksgiving,  inasmuch  as  it  em- 
braced but  a  handful  of  the  people.  The  Indians  must 
have  kept  it  as  a  Fast. 

Thanksgivings  were  appointed  for  "  the  removal  of  sick- 
ness," "the  precious  life  of  our  Sovereign;"  "  success  of 
the  king  of  Prussia,"  "  the  conquest  of  Martinico,"  that 
"  God  had  been  pleased  to  support  our  most  gracious  Queen 
in  the  perils  of  childbirth,"  "  for  success  against  the  Indians, 
so  that  scarce  a  name  or  family  remain  in  their  former 
habitation,"  "  the  suppression  of  rebellion  in  Great  Britain," 


84  MARGARET. 

"  the  near  view  of  peace."  Fasts,  the  antipodal  holiday, 
were  proclaimed  by  reason  of  "  the  small-pox,"  earth- 
quakes, inundations,  and  other  calamities  in  Europe," 
"distressing  Indian  wars,"  "that  we  may  be  preserved 
against  the  rage  of  the  heathen,"  "  the  great  number  of 
insects,"  "  drought,"  "  unseasonable  rains,"  "  divisions  in 
our  churches,"  the  "  Ranters  and  Quakers,"  "  the  low  estate 
of  the  people  of  God,"  "  some  heathen  yet  in  hostility," 
"  the  great  distresses  of  Ministers,  their  salaries  being  paid 
in  depreciated  paper." 

Thanksgiving  was  at  hand  for  Livingston,  the  Pond, 
Nimrod,  Margaret.  Its  succedanea,  as  respects  the  latter, 
were  a  turkey  shoot  the  next  day  and  a  ball  in  the  evening 
at  No.  4.  If  Margaret  had  lived  in  the  village,  or  almost 
any  where  else  than  the  Pond,  she  might  have  enjoyed 
the  meeting  of  families,  parents  and  children,  grand- 
parents and  grandchildren,  uncles,  cousins;  she  might 
have  united  in  the  consumption  of  turkeys,  chickens,  plum- 
pudding,  pumpkin,  mince  and  apple  pies,  beer,  cider,  flip  ; 
she  might  have  gone  to  church  and  heard  a  discourse  from 
Parson  Welles  on  the  distressing  state  of  the  times,  and 
the  imminent  danger  from  French  influence,  and  learned 
what  a  Philistine  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  ;  she  might 
have  gone  to  a  party  of  boys  and  girls  at  Esq.  Weeks's  and 
played  "  blind-man's  buff,"  "  run  round  the  chimney,"  and 
"  button,  button,  who's  got  the  button  ;  "  but  she  did  not. 
Yet  she  was  quite  busy  at  home.  Two  or  three  of  the 
preceding  days  she  spent  riding  about  with  Nimrod  to 
invite  company  and  arouse  interest  for  the  ball.  They 
went  to  Mr.  Pottle's  at  Snake  Hill,  and  Mr.  Dunlap's  at 
Five-mile-lot,  where  they  also  encountered  the  camp 
Preacher  sedulously  disputing  the  field  with  them.  They 
went  also  to  the  Ledge,  where  the  Preacher  followed. 


THANKSGIVING.  85 

But  Mistress  Palmer  decided  the  question  by  saying  that 
Roderick,  her  oldest  son,  had  professed  a  hope  and  would 
not  think  of  going,  but  thai  Rhody  had  not  come  forward  at 
all,  and  she  thought  the  exercise  would  do  her  good,  and 
that  Rufus,  if  he  had  been  serious,  had  lost  his  impressions, 
and  it  would  not  harm  him  to  go. 

Thanksgiving  Eve  was  kept  at  the  Pond  in  this  wise : 
their  candles  were  pine  torches,  which  they  flourished  about 
the  premises  in  pursuit  of  hens  and  turkeys ;  their  clogs 
were  large  clumps  of  bark  crowded  into  the  immense  fire- 
place :  their  carol  consisted  of  oaths,  smirks,  songs  ;  for  ale 
they  had  an  abundance  of  cider  brandy.  No  St.  Nicholas 
watched  about  the  chimney  during  the  night,  or  filled  Mar- 
garet's stocking  in  the  morning.  Who  .is  the  patron  saint 
of  Thanksgiving?  Only  Chilion  made  her  a  present  of  a 
beautiful  blue-painted  sled  to  coast  with  when  the  snows 
came,  and  named  Humming  Bird.  They  had  stewed  chick- 
en and  crust  coffee  for  breakfast,  and  for  dinner  chickens 
roasted  by  strings  suspended  before  the  fire,  potatoes, 
brown  bread  and  cider.  Pies  and  cakes  were  wanting. 
The  remainder  of  the  time  was  occupied  in  preparing  for 
the  events  of  the  next  day,  scouring  guns,  polishing  buckles, 
and  the  like.  Nimrod  took  occasion  to  renew  his  instruc- 
tions to  Margaret  in  the  dancing  art,  and  Chilion  intimated 
some  of  his  best  tunes. 

No.  4,  to  which  the  attention  of  the  family  was  now  di- 
rected, lay  in  a  valley  below  the  Pond,  formed  by  the  pas- 
sage of  Mill  "Brook,  and  was  enriched  by  nature  with  fine 
intervals  and  excellent' drainages.  The  approach  to  the 
place  was  by  a  narrow,  woody,  rocky  road  or  lane.  Here  was 
a  large  tavern,  known  as  Smith's,  and  a  distillery  owned  by 
the  same  gentleman.  In  the  language  of  a  writer  of  the 
times,  this  hamlet  presented  a  spectacle  of  "  houses  without 

VOL.    i.  8 


86  MAKGARET. 

windows,  bams  without  roofs,  gardens  without  enclosures, 
fields  without  fences,  hogs  without  yokes,  sheep  without 
wool,  meagre  cattle,  feeble  horses,  and  half  clad,  dirty 
children,  without  manners,  principles  or  morals."  The 
people  were  loungers  about  the  tavern,  which  seemed  to 
have  exhausted  the  life  of  the  place,  and  to  have  diffused 
over  it  instead,  indolence,  dreariness  and  sterility. 

To  this  hamlet  Nimrod  bore  Margaret,  and  Hash  car- 
ried his  turkeys.  The  day  was  chilly  and  drizzling,  and 
Margaret  was  deposited  in  the  kitchen  of  the  tavern,  where 
she  had  a  chance  to  become  acquainted  with  Mr.  Smith's 
daughters,  the  Gubtailes,  Hatchs,  Tapleys,  from  the  neigh- 
borhood, Paulina  Whiston,  Grace  Joy  and  Beulah  Ann 
Orff  from  Breackneck.  The  bar-room  was  filled  with  men 
and  boys,  fumes  of  rum  and  tobacco,  and  a  jargon  of  voices ; 
the  air  about  was  charged  with  the  smoke  of  powder ; 
there  were  the  report  of  rifles,  the  running  to  and  fro  of 
men  and  boys,  disputes  about  the  shots,  wrangling,  and  wrest- 
ling ;  in  all  which  Margaret  had  no  share.  Thus  passed 
the  fore  part  of  the  day. 

In  the  evening,  Nimrod,  as  one  of  the  masters  of  ar- 
rangements, with  Margaret,  came  early  to  the  tavern. 
Soon  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  began  to  assemble.  Of  the 
number  were  Pluck  and  his  wife,  the  Widow  Wright  and 
Obed,  and  Sibyl  Radney.  Abel  Wilcox,  the  clerk,  and 
Hancock  Welles,  grandson  of  the  Parson,  from  the  vil- 
lage, constituted  the  principal  loafers.  The  hall  was  a 
long  unfinished  upper  room,  having  its  naked  timbers  and 
sleepers  garnished  with  pine  and  hemlock.  Tallow  can- 
dles in  wooden  blocks  effected  a  rude  illumination.  The 
ladie  s'  dresses  presented  considerable  variety  ;  some  had 
made  requisition  on  the  wardrobes  of  their  grandmothers, 
some  had  borrowed  from  their  neighbors,  servants  from 


THANKSGIVING.  87 

their  mistresses ;  in  a  few  appeared  the  latest  style  of  the 
cities;  several  wore  gowns  of  their  own  manufacture,  striped 
or  checked  linen,  with  flowers  elaborately  wrought  with  the 
needle.  There  were  sacques,  trails,  and  one  or  two  hoops. 
All  had  necklaces  of  gold,  glass,  or  waxen  beads.  The 
coiffures  were  equally  diversified,  consisting  of  tye-tops, 
crape  cushions,  toupees,  sustained  and  enriched  with  brass 
and  gilt  clasps,  feathers  and  flowers.  Their  shoes  were 
striped  with  a  white  welt.  There  was  an  agreeable  inter- 
mixture of  old  and  faded  brocades,  rustling  padusoys,  and 
shining  lutestrings.  Many  wore  ear  hoops  of  pinch-beck, 
large  as  a  dollar. 

The  gentlemen  exhibited  a  similar  blending  of  old  and 
new  patterns.  If  Joseph's  coat  of  many  colors  had  been 
miraculously  enlarged,  and  cut  into  separate  garments,  it 
would  form  the  appropriate  suit  of  this  assemblage,  in  which 
red,  blue,  yellow,  chocolate,  butternut,  green,  and  all  hues 
but  black,  were  represented.  Their  hair  was  powdered, 
and  done  in  tyes,  queues,  frizzes.  Margaret  wore  the 
new  dress  Nimrod  brought  her,  and  her  moccasons. 
Pluck  retained  his  leather  apron,  his  wife  had  donned 
a  clean  long-short.  Chilion,  the  chief  musician,  had  on 
a  pearl-colored  coat,  buff  swansdown  vest,  white  worsted 
breeches  and  ribbed  stockings.  Tony  Washington,  ihe. 
negro  barber  from  the  village,  and  assistant  violinist, 
appeared  in  powdered  hair,  a  faded  crimson  silk  coat,  ruffie 
cuffs  and  white  smalls.  It  was  a  singularly  freaked  and 
speckled  group.  There  were  burly,  weather-beaten  faces 
under  powder  and  curls  ;  broad,  hard  hands  in  kid  gloves  ; 
thewy,  red  elbows  that  had  plied  brooms,  shuttles,  cards,  in 
lace  ruffles  ;  there  were  bright  eyes,  smiling  faces  and  many 
pleasant  words. 

Chilion,  whose  general  manner  was  reserved  and  obscure, 


88  MARGARET. 

grew  animated  as  the  dance  began.  Margaret,  omitted 
at  first,  was  presently  called  up  by  Rufus  Palmer.  None 
were  so  young  and  small  as  she ;  but  she  enaeted  her  part 
with  vigor  and  precision.  Her  father  asked  her  for  a 
partner,  and  it  gave  her  new  life  when  she  saw  she  pleased 
him.  She  was,  for  the  most  part,  among  strangers,  in  a 
strange  place  and  strangely  occupied.  The  lights,  the 
open  fantastically  shadowed  garret  above,  the  evergreens, 
the  windows  shining  with  the  dew  of  so  many  breaths,  the 
mystic  motion,  steps  which  one  takes  and  comprehends  not, 
balancing,  gallopading,  confusion  harmonized,  oiled  intrica- 
cies, plough-boys  graceful  and  boors  mannerly,  earnestness 
of  participation,  so  earnest  that  even  in  the  height  of  the 
sport  no  one  smiles ;  and  then  more  than  this,  the 
clear,  exhilarating,  penetrating  notes  of  the  violin,  and 
Chilion's  violin,  that  she  always  loved  to  hear,  played  in 
its  best  way  ;  the  life  of  all  this  life,  the  motion  of  this  mo- 
tion, the  inspirer  and  regulator  of  this  maze, — as  to  all 
these  things,  she  felt  grateful  to  her  brother,  and  for  the 
rest,  she  seemed  to  enjoy  it  with  a  deep  unconsciousness  of 

Joj- 
One  might  have  noticed  her  brother  Chilion  pecu- 
liarly employed.  He  not  only  controlled  the  action,  but 
seemed  to  gratify  himself  in  varying  and  modifying  it.  He 
evidently  fantasied  with  the  company.  He  made  them 
move  faster  or  slower  as  he  pleased.  He  might  have  been 
seen  watching  the  effect  of  his  viol,  or  his  own  effect  through 
it.  "Whatever  power  he  possessed  he  exerted  to  the  utmost. 
He  seemed  to  be  playing  more  upon  the  dancers  than  upon 
his  instrument.  In  the  midst  of  a  figure  he  would  accel- 
erate the  parties,  and  whirl  them  to  the  end  with  frantic 
rapidity  and  bewildering  intent.  In  a  contra-dance,  to  the 
<J  Campbells  are  Coming,"  never  did  plaided  Highlander 


THANKSGIVING.  89 

leap  down  his  native  rocks  with  more  headlong  step  than 
those  same  pied  bumpkins  sprang  over  that  hall  floor.  He 
slackened  the  motion  at  the  close,  and  dismissed  them  qui- 
etly to  their  seats.  In  one  of  the  intermissions  might  have 
been  seen  entering  the  place  the  indefatigable  Preacher. 
He  stole  through  the  crowd,  erected  his  tall  dark  form  on 
a  bench,  and  taking  advantage  of  the  pause,  broke  upon 
them  like  a  thunder  gust.  His  loud,  guttural,  solemn  voice 
rang  through  the  room  :— 

"  Thus  saith  the  Lord  God,  thy  pomp  shall  be  brought 
down  to  the  grave,  and  the  noise  of  thy  viols !  " 

"  A  sermon !  a  sermon !  "  cried  Abel  Wilcox. 

Preacher.  "You  look  fair  and  seemly,  but  you  are 
stench  in  the  nostrils  of  the  Almighty." 

Crowd.     "Another  set,  who'll  lead  off?  " 

Preacher.  "  The  Lord  will  take  away  the  bravery  of 
your  tinkling  ornaments,  your  cauls  and  round  tires  like 
the  moon,  your  chains  and  bracelets  and  mufflers." 

Pluck.  "  Let  us  praise  God  in  the  dance,  praise  him 
with  the  stringed  instrument.  Let  us,  as  David  did,  dance 
before  the  Lord." 

•  Preacher.  "  This  place  shall  be  as  God  overthrew  Sod- 
om and  Gomorrah ;  owls  shall  dwell  here,  and  satyrs  shall 
dance  here." 

Crowd.  "Peggy  and  Molly!"  "The  Haymakers," 
"  Here's  Zenas  Joy  and  Belinda  Hoag  want '  Come  haste 
to  the  Wedding  ! '  " 

Preacher.  "  You  stand  on  slippery  places,  your  feet 
shall  stumble  on  the  dark  mountains." 

Crowd.     "  Chorus  Jig !  Hoa !   Chilion  !  " 

Chilion.     "  Take  your  partners." 

The  words  of  the  Preacher,  as  not  unusually  happens, 
were  disregarded.    He  pitched  his  voice  still  higher.    They 
8* 


90  MARGARET. 

danced  the  faster,  Chilion  played  with  the  greater  energy. 
The  Preacher  himself,  exhausted  or  discouraged,  became  at 
length  a  listener,  and  finally  his  eye  was  riveted  to  the 
scene  before  him.  Chilion  played  on  almost  wildly.  Tony 
seconded  the  purposes  of  his  master  to  the  best  of  his  en- 
deavors, his  teeth  and  eyes  shone  with  a  terrified  whiteness, 
and  the  powder  from  his  hair  ran  in  chalky  streams  down 
his  face.  Chilion  was  unmoved  in  the  storm  he  raised. 
Curls  uncurled,  ruffles  were  ruffled,  trains  trailed ;  but 
the  game  went  on.  Margaret  revelled  in  the  movement ; 
she  danced  as  to  the  winds;  she  knew  her  brother,  she 
loved  his  power,  she  leaped  out  his  spirit  and  tones.  She 
sprang  through  the  figure  like  a  shuttle,  she  spun  round 
and  round  like  a  top.  Chilion,  in  his  own  time,  softened 
the  measure,  and  suffered  the  piece  to  glide  away  in  the 
gentlest  pulsations.  The  night  waxed  and  waned.  The 
Preacher  and  spectators  had  gone ;  most  of  the  dancers  left. 
Here  we  must  recede  a  moment  to  relate  that  in  the 
forenoon,  Hash,  the  brother  of  Margaret,  and  Zenas  Joy,  a 
resident  of  the  place  called  Breakneck,  had  a  serious  mis- 
understanding about  a  shot  the  latter  made  at  a  turkey  set 
up  by  the  former.  Numbers  came  forward  to  the  arbitra- 
tion, and  in  the  result  it  happened  that  the  interests  and 
jealousies  of  all  parties  became  joined  in  issue,  and  the 
strength  and  prowess  of  the  several  neighborhoods  were 
marshalled  under  the  respective  standards  of  the  Pond  and 
Breakneck.  It  was  proposed  to  adjust  the  difficulty  by  a 
champion  from  each  side  in  a  wrestling  match.  A  rain, 
however,  separated  the  combatants,  and  broke  up  the  ring. 
At  the  supper-table  in  the  evening,  the  subject  was  re- 
newed. Again  at  this  late  hour  of  the  night,  there  were  not 
wanting  causes  to  stimulate  the  feud  in  such  as  remained. 
Mr.  Smith,  the  tavern-keeper,  brought  forward  a  fresh 


THANKSGIVING.  91 

supply  of  liquors,  of  which  both  gentlemen  and  ladies 
freely  drank  ;  and  the  two  young  men  from  the  village  had 
no  other  business  than  to  foment  and  egg  on  the  rivalships 
or  the  several  districts.  A  final  dance  was  called  for ;  but 
there  appeared  little  self-possession  either  in  respect  of 
temper  or  limb.  Chilion  played  a  while,  and  then  relin- 
quished his  instrument.  Zenas  Joy  seized  Hash  by  the 
collar ;  Joseph  Whiston  tripped  Obed,  who,  poor  youth, 
was  already  nearly  down  with  liquor ;  Abel  Wilcox  spurred 
Rufus  Palmer  to  tread  on  Beulah  Ann  OrlPs  trail ;  Grace 
Joy  taunted  Nimrod  with  a  false  step  Margaret  had  taken  ; 
Sibyl  Radney  rushed  into  the  fray,  pounced  upon  Zenas 
Joy,  and  sent  him  whirling  about  the  room,  as  she  would  a 
spinning  wheel.  So  one  and  another  were  engaged.  Mar- 
garet, who  had  left  the  floor,  was  standing  by  the  side  of 
Chilion.  She  looked  at  the  quarrellers,  and  then  at  her 
brother.  He  snapped  his  viol  strings,  and  was  silent. 

"  Sing,  Margery,"  at  length  he  said.  He  began  a 
familiar  tune,  "  Mary's  Dream," — he  played  and  she  sang. 
This  twofold  melody,  sweet  and  plaintive,  seemed  to  touch 
the  hearts  of  those  excited  people.  They  stopped  to  hear, 
they  heard  to  be  won.  They  moved  towards  the  music  ; 
they  were  hushed  if  not  subdued,  they  parted  in  peace  if 
not  in  harmony.  Thus  ended  their  Thanksgiving,  and  we 
must  end  ours,  and  turn  to  other  times  and  scenes. 


92  MARGARET. 


CHAPTER    XL 

A    REVISED    ACCOUNT    OF   NIMROD   AND    HIS    DOING;. 

WE  shall  omit  the  wild-turkey  hunt  of  a  bright  autumnal 
moonlight  night  in  the  woods,  exciting  and  engaging  though 
it  was,  and  the  race  with  Streaker,  in  which  Margaret  bore 
no  part,  while  we  proceed  to  enumerate  some  particular ;  of 
her  eldest  brother,  that  have  a  relation  to  herself.  Nim- 
rod  evinced  a  v(  latile,  roving,  adventure-seeking  habit  from 
his  boyhood.  The  severe  waspish  temper  of  I. is  mother  he 
could  not  abide,  the  coarse,  dogged  despotism  of  Hash  he 
resented  ;  Chilion  was  only  a  boy,  and  one  not  sufficiently 
social  and  free  ;  with  his  father  he  had  more  in  common. 
At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  became  an  indented  apprentice  to 
Mr.  Hatch,  the  blacksmith  at  No.  4.  But  of  the  different 
kind  of  blows  of  which  he  was  capable,  he  relished  those 
best  that  had  the  least  to  do  with  the  anvil.  He  liked 
horses  well  enough,  but  preferred  their  hides  to  their  hoofs  ; 
and  became  more  skilful  with  the  fleam  than  the  butteris. 
He  left  his  master  in  a  rage,  himself  in  good  humor.  He 
next  let  himself  at  the  Crown  and  Bowl  in  the  village, 
where  one  might  fancy  he  would  find  his  element.  He  was 
hostler,  bar-tender,  errand-boy,  farrier,  mistress'-man,  wait- 
ing-maid's man  and  every  body's  man  by  turn.  He  enter- 
tained traveller's  at  the  door,  girls  in  the  kitchen  and  boys 
on  the  stoop.  He  was  quick  but  he  always  loitered,  he  was 
ingenious  yet  did  nothing  well.  It  would  not  seem  strange 
that  he  should  prove  a  better  auxiliary  to  every  one's  taste 
and  fancy,  than  to  his  employer's  interest.  He  hung  a 


NIMROD    DEVELOPED.  93 

flint  stone  on  the  barn-door  to  keep  the  devil  from  riding 
the  horses  in  the  night ;  but  this  did  not  prevent  indica- 
tions of  their  having  been  used  at  unlawful  times  and  in 
unlawful  ways.  He  was  dismissed.  While  he  served 
others  at  the  bar  he  must  needs  help  himself,  and  he  be- 
came at  an  early  age  an  adept  in  what  an  old  writer  de- 
nominates the  eighth  liberal  art.  At  the  close  of  the  Revo- 
lutionary war,  it  became  more  difficult  to  fill  vacancies 
in  the  army  than  it  had  been  originally  to  form  companies. 
There  were  "  Classes  "  in  Livingston,  as  every  where  else, 
instituted  to  furnish  a  certain  number  of  soldiers,  as  exi- 
gency required.  By  one  of  these,  Nimrod,  not  yet  fifteen 
years  of  age,  but  of  due  physical  proportion  and  compli- 
ance, was  hired.  He  joined  a  detachment  ordered  on  the 
defence  of  our  northern  frontier. 

But  even  military  discipline  was  insufficient  to  correct 
his  propensities,  or  reform  his  habits.  He  deserted,  and 
crossed  the  Canada  line.  He  joined  a  band  of  smugglers 
that  swarmed  in  those  quarters,  and  during  the  spring  of 
the  year  1784,  we  find  him  in  New  York  city  aboard  a 
sloop  fr^m  up  river.  The  vessel  was  anchored  in  the 
stream  not  far  from  the  Albany  Basin.  She  had  a  deck- 
load  of  lumber,  and  wheat  in  her  hold,  the  ordinary  supply 
of  the  country  at  the  time ;  her  contraband  goods  were 
stowed  in  proper  places.  Government,  both  state  and  na- 
tional, was  pressed  for  means ;  the  war,  taxes,  suspension 
of  productive  labor,  had  heightened  necessity  and  dimin- 
ished resource.  Duties  were  great,  but  legislation  was 
irregular.  The  city  held  in  its  bosom  many  who  had  suf- 
fered during  the  late  contest.  The  general  amnesty,  while 
it  retained  the  disaffected,  failed  in  some  cases  to  reconcile 
them.  Hence  smuggling,  while  it  grew  to  be  a  most  vexa- 
tious practice,  was  one  of  tolerably  easy  accomplishment. 


.94  -MARGARET. 

Late  in  the  evening  the  cabin  of  the  sloop  was  visited  by 
an  elderly  gentleman  in  buff  coat  and  breeches,  having  an 
eagle  holding  an  olive  branch  wrought  on  his  left  breast 
He  was  addressed  by  the  Captain  as  Mr.  Girardeau.  He 
complained  bitterly  of  the  times,  the  rise  of  taxes,  financial 
depressions,  the  decline  of  real  estate  and  sundry  misfor- 
tunes. He  said  that  his  clerk,  meaning  thereby  his  daugh- 
ter, had  eloped,  and  that  his  old  servant  Samuel  was  dead. 
He  had  evident  connection  with  the  private  objects  of  the 
vessel,  and  under  his  supervision  preparations  were  made 
for  carrying  the  contraband  articles  to  his  own  store  in  the 
city.  These,  consisting  of  silks,  ribbons,  laces,  &c.,  were 
laid  in  coffin-shaped  boxes,  and  Nimrod  with  another  of  the 
crew  was  detached  as  porter.  They  rowed  in  a  small 
boat  as  far  as  the  beach  in  Hudson  Square,  threaded  a 
lane  along  the  woods  and  hills  of  Grand  Street,  came  down 
through  the  marshes  and  fields  of  Broadway,  till  they 
reached  a  small  wooden  house  lying  under  a  hill  back  of  the 
City  Hall,  the  residence  of  Mr.  Girardeau.  They  encoun- 
tered several  of  the  police  stationed  on  the  skirts  of  the  city, 
one  of  whom  they  frightened  by  intimations  of  the  small- 
pox ;  another  they  avoided  by  slinking  into  the  shadows  of 
trees  ;  a  third  they  stupefied  by  drafts  of  rum,  a  supply  of 
which  they  carried  in  their  pockets.  Nimrod  recounted 
his  adroit  passages  to  Mr.  Girardeau,  who  seemed  pleased 
with  the  success  if  not  with  the  character  of  the  youth ; 
and,  in  fine,  hearing  him  highly  recommended  by  the  Cap- 
tain, he  the  next  day  engaged  him,  under  the  assumed 
name  of  Foxly,  to  fill  the  place  recently  held  by  his  de- 
ceased servant. 

Nimrod  was  nothing  loth  to  exchange  masters  and 
enter  upon  new  scenes.  Mr.  Girardeau's  quarters  com- 
prised both  his  store  and  dwelling-house.  The  build 
ing  was  one  of  the  old  style,  having  its  gable  to  the 


NIMROD    IN    NEW    YORK.  95 

street.  In  the  rear  of  the  shop-room  was  a  kitchen,  and 
above  were  sleeping  apartments.  In  the  first  instance,  Mr. 
Girardeau  intimated  to  Nimrod  the  necessity  of  a  change 
of  apparel,  and  that  he  must  wear  one  of  a  color  like  his 
own.  He  himself  had  been  a  resident  in  the  city  during 
the  war,  while  the  British  had  possession,  and  at  that  time 
wore  a  scarlet  coat,  with  the  arms  of  the  king.  At  the 
peace,  he  changed  his  hue  and  badge.  In  the  next  place, 
he  undertook  to  indoctrinate  his  new  servant  in  the  secrets 
of  his  business,  and  to  impress  upon  him  a  sense  of  the  re- 
sponsibleness  of  his  vocation.  "  I — I  should  say  we — 'tis 
all  one  concern,  one  interest,"  so  his  employer  unfolded 
himself,  "we  are  poor,  we  are  embarrassed.  You,  Mr. 
Foxly,  perhaps  know  how  awful  a  thing  poverty  is.  You 
can  understand  me.  We  are  opposed,  we  are  maltreated, 
we  are  vilified.  Enemies  beset  us  night  and  day ;  even 
now  they  may  be  listening  to  us  through  the  walls." 

Nimrod,  who  was  not  without  a  tincture  of  the  supersti- 
tion of  his  times,  notwithstanding  his  ordinary  display  of 
fearlessness  and  daring,  started.  "  They  won't  take  us  off 
in  the  night,  will  they  ?  "  exclaimed  he. 

"  Yes,  in  the  night,"  replied  Mr.  Girardeau. 

"  Then  I  may  as  well  be  a  packing,"  said  Nimrod.  "  I 
can't  stay  here.  1  thought  you  hadn't  any  of  them  in  the 
city." 

"  Why  the  city  is  full  of  them,"  replied  Mr.  Girardeau, 
"  hence  we  see  the  necessity  of  care,  confederation  and 
secrecy." 

"  But  they  come  in  any  where,"  answered  Nimrod. 
"  They'll  whisk  you  right  out  of  your  bed.  Aunt  Ravel 
had  seven  pins  stuck  into  her  in  one  night.  Old  uncle 
Kiah,  that  used  to  live  at  Snake  Hill,  was  trundled  down 
hill  three  nights  agoing,  and  his  skin  all  wore  off,  and  he 
grew  as  lean  as  a  gander's  leg." 


96  MARGARET. 

"  Mr.  Foxly  ! "  interrupted  Mr.  Girardeau,  "  you  mis- 
understand me, — I  see  you  are  from  the  country,  a  good 
place, — but  you  misunderstand  me.  It  is  men  I  mean,  not 
spirits.  We  have  no  witches  here,  only  hard-hearted,  covet- 
ous, ignorant,  griping,  depraved,  desperate  men." 

"  Sho  !  it's  humans  you  are  speaking  of,"  replied  Nim- 
rod  ;  "  I  an't  no  more  afraid  of  them  than  a  cat  is  of  a  wren. 
I  like  them,  I  could  live  among  them  as  well  as  a  fish  in 
water." 

"  Mr.  Foxly ! "  continued  Mr.  Girardeau,  solemnly, 
"  we  have  something  to  fear  from  men.  Here  likewise 
you  mistake.  I  fear  you  are  too  rash,  too  headstrong." 

"  Any  thing,  Sir,"  answered  Nimrod,  "  I  will  do  any 
thing  you  wish,"  he  added  more  soberly.  "  I  will  serve 
you,  as  they  did  the  troops  in  the  war,  work  for  nothing 
and  find  myself." 

"  You  may  well  say  so,"  added  Mr.  Girardeau,  Samuel 
was  faithful,  he  spared  himself  to  provide  for  me.  We  are 
in  straits,  we  must  live  frugally.  Persecution  surrounds  us. 
We  have  enemies  who  can  do  us  a  great  injury.  I  can  be 
made  to  injure  you,  and  you  to  injure  me.  We  need  cir- 
cumspection ;  we  are,  if  I  may  so  say,  in  one  another's 
power.  There  are  those  who  might  take  advantage  of  my 
necessities,  to  compel  me  to  surrender  you  to  the  rigor  of 
unjust  laws,  and  you  might  end  your  days  in  a  prison.  My 
whole  life  has  been  one  of  exposure  and  want,  labor  and 
toil."  Thus  was  Nimrod  addressed.  In  the  third  place, 
added  Mr.  Girardeau,  "  I  must  admonish  you,  Mr.  Foxly, 
and  most  rigidly  enjoin,  that  on  no  account  are  you  to  have 
conference,  or  hold  any  relations  with  a  certain  young 
woman,  that  sometimes  comes  here,  whom  I  will  point  out 
to  you." 

Nimrod  found  upon  the  premises  a  little  black-eyed 
boy  eight  or  nine  years  of  age,  whom  he  took  for  the 


NIMKOD    IN   NEW   YORK.  97 

grandson  of  his  employer.  This  boy  was  sent  to  school, 
and. when  at  home  played  on  the  hill  back  of  the  house, 
and  slept  in  a  room  separate  from  Niinrod's,  with  whom 
Mr.  Girardeau  did  not  seem  anxious  that  he  should  have 
much  intercourse.  These  three  constituted  the  entire 
family.  Nimrod  became  cook,  washerman,  porter,  and 
performed  with  alacrity  whatever  duty  was  assigned  him. 
How  Nimrod  relished  his  new  service  and  new  master  for 
a  while,  we  need  not  relate.  He  could  not  fail  however 
to  be  sensible  that  his  food  was  not  quite  as  good  as  that  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed,  and  to  see  that  his  master 
did  not  prove  exactly  what  he  expected.  He  found  Mr. 
Girardeau  to  be,  to  say  the  least,  harsh,  arbitrary,  exact- 
ing ;  he  began  to  suspect  something  worse  than  this ;  he 
believed  he  told  him  falsehoods ;  that  he  had  money,  and 
that  in  abundance.  As  he  lay  on  the  counter,  where  he 
usually  slept  at  night,  he  was  sure  he  heard  the  sound  of 
coin  in  the  room  overhead.  Of  the  young  woman,  respect- 
ing whom  he  had  been  cautioned,  he  saw  nothing,  till  one 
day  he  heard  voices  in  the  chamber.  He  listened  at  the 
.  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  distinguished  a  female's  voice.  There 
were  sharp  works,  severe  epithets.  Presently  a  woman 
came  hurriedly  down,  and  passed  into  the  street. 

"  Did  you  see  that  girl  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Girardeau,  descend- 
ing immediately  afterwards. 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  replied  Nimrod. 

"  She  is  my  daughter,"  added  Mr.  Girardeau.  "  Yes, 
my  own  flesh  and  blood.  You  know  not  the  feelings  of  a 
father.  She  has  been  guilty  of  the  greatest  of  crimes,  she 
has  disobeyed  me,  she  has  violated  my  will,  she  has  endan- 
gered my  estate.  She  has  married  to  her  own  shame.,  and 
my  grief.  I  have  borne  with  her,  till  forbearance  becomes 
a  sin.  She  would  strip  me  of  my  possessions.  The  author 

VOL.  i.  9 


98  MARGARET. 

of  her  degradation  she  would  make  the  pander  to  her  cru- 
elty. I  am  doubly  beset,  they  are  in  a  conspiracy  against 
me.  Heed  her  not,  listen  not  to  her  importunity,  let  her 
suffer.  I  have  no  feelings  of  a  father;  they  have  been 
wrenched  and  torn  away ;  I  cannot  own  a  viper  for  a 
child." 

Nimrod  thrust  his  fists  in  his  waistcoat  pockets,  where 
he  clenched  them  angrily.  He  was  silent.  He  listened  as 
to  an  unanswerable  argument;  he  believed  not  a  word. 
In  the  mean  time  let  us  refer  to  some  events  wherein  his 
own  interest  began  to  be  awakened ;  and  which  we  shall 
embody  in  a  new  chapter,  with  a  new  title. 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.      99 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE    STORY   OF    GOTTFRIED    BRUCKMANN   AND    JANE     GI- 
RARDEAU. 

AMONG  the  Mercenaries,  popularly  known  as  Hessians, 
employed  by  England  against  America  during  the  war  of 
our  Revolution,  was  Gottfried  Briickmann.  He  was, 
properly  speaking,  a  Waldecker,  having  been  born  in  Pyr- 
mont,  an  inconsiderable  city  of  that  principality.  From 
what  we  know  of  his  history,  he  seems  to  have  shared 
largely  in  the  passion  for  music,  which  distinguishes  many 
of  his  country.  To  this  also  he  added  a  thirst  for  literary 
acquisition.  But  a  peasant  by  caste,  he  encountered 
not  a  few  obstacles  in  these  higher  pursuits.  He  became 
bellows-boy  for  the  organ  in  the  church  of  his  native  town, 
and  availing  himself  of  chance  opportunities,  attained  some 
•skill  on  that  instrument.  He  played  well  on  the  harp- 
sichord, flute  and  violin.  In  the  French  language,  at  that 
time  so  much  in  vogue  among  the  Germans,  he  became  a 
proficient.  Nevertheless,  he  fretted  under  the  govern- 
mental yoke  that  lay  so  oppressively  and  haughtily  upon 
the  necks  of  that  class  of  people  to  which  he  belonged. 
His  conduct  exposing  him  to  suspicion,  he  fled  into  the 
region  of  country  described  as  the  Hartz  Mountains. 
Whatever  of  romance,  literature,  poetry,  descended  into 
the  mass  of  the  population  ;  whatever  of  legendary  tale  or 
cabalistic  observance  was  cherished  by  the  common  heart ; 
whatever  of  imaginative  temper,  ideal  aspiration,  or  mystic 
enthusiasm  has  ever  characterized  any  portion  of  his  coun- 


100  MARGARET. 

trymen,  Bruckmann  possessed  ;  and  in  the  vicinity  where 
he  now  found  himself,  there  was  a  supply  of  objects  fitted 
to  animate  the  strongest  sentiments  of  his  being,  and  scenes 
and  associations  that  were  congenial  with  his  inclinations  ; 
— forests  of  oak  and  beech,  fir  and  pine  ;  every  kind  and 
conformation  of  rock ;  birds  of  all  descriptions ;  cloud-pier- 
cing hills,  unfathomable  chasms ;  lakes  embosomed  in  moun- 
tains ;  waterfalls ;  mines  and  smelting-houses,  with  the 
weird  and  turtarean  look  of  the  workmen  and  their  opera- 
tions ;  gorgeous  sunsets  ;  dense  and  fantastic  fogs  ;  peren- 
nial snows :  points  of  local  and  traditionary  interest ;  the 
Altar  and  Sorcerer's  Chair,  the  seat  of  the  festival  of  the 
Old  Saxon  idol,  Crotho;  the  grottoes  Baumanshole  and 
Bielshole ;  a  cave  reputed  at  the  time  to  have  no  termina- 
tion ;  wildness,  irregularity,  terror,  grandeur,  freedom  and 
mystery,  on  every  side.  In  addition,  were  little  villages 
and  clusters  of  houses  in  valleys  embowered  in  forests  and 
overshadowed  by  mountains,  into  one  of  which  Briickmann's 
wanderings  led  him,  that  of  Rubillaud,  through  which  runs 
the  Bode.  Here  in  the  midst  of  almo.- 1  inaccessible  rocks 
and  cold  elevations,  he  found  fruit-trees  in  blossom,  fields 
green  with  corn,  and  a  small  stone  church  surmounted 
with  a  crucifix,  a  May-pole  hung  wiili  garlands,  around 
which  the  villagers  were  having  their  Whitsun  dances.  In 
this  place  he  remained  a  while,  and  was  engaged  as  a  school 
teacher  for  children,  the  parents  of  whom  were  chiefly 
miners.  Here  he  became  warmly  attached  to  one  of  his 
pupils,  Margaret  Bruneau,  daughter  of  the  Pastor  of  Ru- 
billaud, who  was  a  Lutheran.  In  her  he  found  tastes  and 
feelings  like  his  own.  With  her  he  rambled  among  moun- 
tains, penetrated  caves,  sang  from  rocks  ;  and  had  such  an 
intercourse  as  tended  to  cement  their  affection,  and  prose- 
cuted whatever  plans  were  grateful  to  their  natures. 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.       101 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  repose  came  that  cruel  and  barbar- 
ous draft  of  the  British  Crown  on  the  German  States.  Some 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Rubillaud,  who  were  subjects  of  the 
King  of  Hanover,  were  enlisted  in  this  foreign  service. 
Requisition  was  made  on  several  provinces  then  in  alliance 
with  England,  Brunswick,  Hesse  Cassel,  Hanau,  Anhalt 
and  Waldeck  ;  and  on  Bruckmann's  native  town,  Pyrmont. 
The  general  league  formed  among  these  princes  against  the 
peace  and  liberty  of  their  people,  would  not  suffer  that 
Briickmann  should  escape.  He  was  seized,  as  if  he  had 
been  a  felon,  and  forcibly  taken  to  Rotterdam,  the  place  of 
embarkation.  The  reluctance  with  which  this  body  of 
levies  contemplated  the  duty  to  which  they  were  destined, 
will  be  understood  when  it  is  told  that  they  were  obliged 
to  be  under  guard  on  their  march  to  the  sea-coast ;  that 
many  of  them  bound  hand  and  foot  were  transported  in 
•  carts  ;  some  succeeded  in  deserting ;  others  making  the 
attempt  were  shot.  Briickmann,  for  some  instance  of 
insubordination,  received  a  wound  at  the  hand  of  his  own 
Captain,  from  which  he  never  entirely  recovered.  Swords 
ruled  souls.  Their  avaricious  and  tyrannical  lords  let 
them  out  as  slaves,  and  had  them  scourged  to  their  tasks. 
Briickmann  and  Margaret  parted  in  uttermost  bitterness  of 
spirit,  and  with  the  fondest  expressions  of  love.  They 
wafted  their  adieus  and  prayers  to  each  other  across  the 
bridge  of  the  Bode,  over  which  he  was  rudely  snatched  to 
see  her  in  this  world  no  more  forever. 

We  shall  not  follow  him  through  the  fortunes  of  the  war ; 
but  hasten  to  its  close,  when  he  was  stricken  and  over- 
whelmed by  the  news  of  Margaret's  death.  A  strong  bond, 
and  perhaps  the  only  one  that  attached  him  to  his  native 
country,  was  broken ;  and  in  common  with  many  of  his 
countrymen,  he  chose  to  remain  in  America  after  the  peace. 


102  MARGARET. 

These  Germans,  such  as  survived, — more  than  eleven  thou- 
sand of  their  number  having  perished  during  the  WAT, — dis- 
posed of  themselves  as  they  could  ;  some  joined  the  settle- 
ments of  their  brethren  in  Pennsylvania,  others  pushed 
beyond  the  Ohio,  a  few  sought  the  New  England  States. 
Briickmann  took  up  his  abode  in  New  York.  Those  who 
returned  to  Germany  he  bade  plant  Margaret's  grave  with 
narcissus,  rosemary  and  thyme,  and  visit  it  every  Whitsun 
Festival  with  fresh  flowers ;  while  he  would  hallow  her 
memory  with  prayers  and  tears  in  his  own  heart.  He  was 
disappointed  in  purpose,  forsaken  in  spirit,  broken  in  feel- 
ing. Contrary  to  the  usual  maxim,  he  loved  those  whom 
he  had  injured,  and  was  willing  that  whatever  of  life  or 
energy  remained  to  him  should  be  given  to  the  Americans, 
while  he  remembered  the  land  of  his  birth  with  sorrow, 
upbraidings  and  despair. 

Owing  to  our  numerous  and  profitable  relations  with 
France  at  this  time,  the  French  language  had  arisen  in  the 
popular  estimation,  and  was  in  great  request.  He  would 
teach  it,  and  so  earn  a  livelihood,  and  serve  the  land  of  his 
adoption.  Music  too,  the  musical  spirit  of  Margaret  and 
of  his  native  country,  that  which  survives  in  the  soul  when 
every  thing  else  is  prostrate,  came  over  him.  He  would 
live  again  in  song.  He  would  recall  the  scenes  of  the  past. 
Margaret  would  reappear  in  the  tones  of  their  love  and 
their  youth  ;  her  spirit  would  echo  to  the  voice  of  his  flute  ; 
in  song,  like  night,  they  would  meet  again  ;  by  an  invisible 
pathway  of  melody  they  would  glide  on  to  the  grave.  Poor 
Briickmann  !  Poor  America !  What  with  his  deficiency 
in  our  tongue,  and  his  former  services  against  our  liberties, 
he  obtained  but  few  scholars.  Superior  and  more  agreea- 
ble Frenchmen  were  his  rivals.  Music !  How  could  we 
pay  for  music,  when  we  could  not  pay  our  debts  ?  The 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAtl.      103 

crescendo  and  diminuendo  were  other  than  of  sound  our 
people  had  to  learn.  -He  grew  sicker  at  heart,  his  hopes 
had  all  fled,  and  his  spiritual  visions  seemed  to  grow  dim- 
mer and  dimmer.  He  sat  by  the  narrow  window  of  the 
small  unlighted  room  he  rented,  in  the  night,  and  played 
on  his  flute  to  the  darkness,  the  air,  the  groups  of  idle 
passers  by,  to  memory  and  to  the  remote  future  whither  his 
visions  were  flying  and  the  fair  spirit  of  his  reveries  had 
betaken  itself.  Yet  he  had  one  and  not  an  unconcerned 
listener,  and  perhaps  another.  These  were  Jane  Girardeau 
and  her  father.  Mr.  Girardeau  had  discovered  the  sound 
of  the  music  proceeding  from  the  hill  behind  his  house,  and 
his  daughter  listening  to  it.  He  called  her  in  ;  she  would 
go  up  to  the  chamber  window,  and  repeat  her  curiosity. 
He  ordered  her  to  bed ;  she  would  creep  from  her  room, 
and  sly  into  the  street  that  she  might  hear  it.  He  detected 
her,  rebuffed  her,  and  locked  her  into  her  room.  "  Can 
you  indulge  such  extravagance  ?  "  was  the  language  of  Mr. 
Girardeau  to  his  daughter.  "  Can  you  yield  to  such  weak- 
ness ?  "Will  you  waste  your  time  in  this  way  ?  Shall  I 
suffer  in  you  a  repetition  of  all  your  mother  occasioned 
me  ?  Will  you  hazard  your  reputation  ?  Why  will  you 
so  often  break  my  commands  ?  I  will  have  none  of  this. 
You  are  impudent,  beastly." 

His  daughter  ill  brooked  such  treatment.  To  the  mind 
of  her  father,  she  was  rash,  turbulent,  inordinate,  selfish, 
lavish,  insensible.  She  was  lavish,  but  only  of  her  heart's 
best  affections ;  she  was  rash,  not  in  head,  so  much  as  in 
impulse  ;  she  was  insensible,  but  only  to  the  demands  of 
lucre  ;  she  was  troubled,  not  turbulent ;  she  was  inordinate, 
for  no  want  of  her  heart  had  ever  been  supplied  ;  she  was 
selfish  in  the  sense  of  obeying  her  nature,  while  she  disre- 
garded the  behests  of  stupidity  and  meanness. 


104  MARGARET. 

Jane  had  rebelled  under  the  iron  jurisdiction  of  her 
father.  Like  the  hidden  fires  of  the  earth  she  broke  out 
wherever  she  could  find  vent.  She  was  held  down,  not 
subdued.  She  was  too  elastic  to  flatten,  too  spiritual  to 
stagnate.  She  rebounded  with  a  wild  recoil.  Her  fits  of 
anger,  or  sallies  of  spirit,  whatever  they  might  be  called, 
were  frequent  and  energetic.  As  she  grew  older,  she  be- 
came more  sensible  of  her  degradation  and  wrongs,  as  well 
as  more  capable  of  redressing  them. 

She  was  the  only  child  of  an  ill-assorted  marriage.  She 
became  of  some  service  to  her  father.  Her  personal  beauty 
was  an  attraction  to  customers,  and  he  valued  her  aid  as 
shop-girl.  She  presided  over  the  department  of  the  store 
devoted  to  the  sale  of  fancy  goods,  which,  obtained  in  va- 
rious ways,  afforded  enormous  profits,  and  became  an  item 
of  trade,  that,  notwithstanding  her  father's  extensive  and 
multifarious  business,  he  could  not  well  forego.  She  was 
also  a  good  accountant  and  book-keeper.  Briickmann  was 
straitened  for  means.  His  quarterly  rent  was  due.  He 
would  make  one  effort  more  ;  and  that  perhaps  the  most 
dangerous  for  a  poor  man  ;  he  would  borrow  money.  He 
knew  of  the  broker  near  by,  and  his  reputation  for  wealth. 
He  had  no  friend,  no  backer.  He  obtained  a  certificate 
ftom  the  parents  of  one  of  his  scholars,  to  the  effect  that  he 
was  believed  to  be  an  honest  man.  He  presented  himself 
at  the  store  of  Mr.  Girardeau.  Jane  was  there ;  she  re- 
cognized in  him  the  flute-player,  whom  she  had  sometimes 
seen  in  the  streets,  or  at  his  window.  Briickmann  was  a 
Saxon  throughout ;  his  eyes  were  full  blue,  his  complexion 
was  light  and  fair,  his  hair  was  of  a  sandy  brown,  thick  and 
bushy.  Dejection  and  disappointment  were  evidently  doing 
their  work  upon  him.  His  face  had  grown  thin,  his  eyes 
were  sunk,  and  his  look  was  that  of  a  sick  man.  He 


GOTTFRIED  BRLCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.       105 

addressed  Mr.  Girardeau  in  broken  English.  "  Speak  in 
your  own  language,"  said  the  latter  gentleman,  "  I  can 
understand  you."  He  stated  briefly  his  object.  Mr.  Girar- 
deau looked  at  the  note,  and  replied  in  German,  "  Hard 
times,  sir,  hard  times ;  securities  scarce,  liabilities  uncer- 
tain, business  dull,  great  losses  abroad,  foreigners  do  not 
appreciate  our  condition."  He  then  proceeded  to  interro- 
gate Briickmann  on  his  business,  circumstances,  prospects. 
There  were  two  listeners  to  the  answer,  father  and  daugh- 
ter, both  intent,  but  in  a  different  manner.  The  old  gen- 
tleman ordered  Jane  away  while  he  transacted  a  little  pri- 
vate business.  She  retreated  to  the  back  part  of  the  store 
•where  she  persistingly  stood  ;  and  it  was  obvious,  although 
the  stranger  spoke  in  his  own  tongue,  she  comprehended 
what  he  said.  From  one  thing  to  another,  Briickmann 
was  led  to  recite  his  entire  history  ;  his  birth,  his  retreat  to 
Rubillaud,  his  interest  in  Margaret,  his  enlistment,  his  ser- 
vice in  the  war,  Margaret's  death,  his  present  method  of 
support  Mr.  Girardeau  replied,  in  brief,  that  it  was  not  in 
his  power  to  accommodate  him.  The  agitation  of  Briick- 
mann was  evidently  intense  at  this  repulse  ;  and  there 
seemed  to  be  aroused  a  corresponding  sympathy  of  distress 
in  the  heart  of  Jane.  The  story  of  the  stranger  interested 
her,  it  took  strong  possession  of  her  imagination.  As  he 
left,  her  thoughts  followed  him  with  that  most  agonizing 
sense  of  powerless  compassion.  Could  she  but  see  him, 
could  she  but  speak  with  him,  she  would  bestow  upon  him 
her  condolences,  if  she  could  offer  him  no  more  substantial 
aid. 

Jane  studied  day  and  night  how  she  might  encounter  the 
unhappy  stranger,  the  enchanting  musician.  To  perfect 
her  for  his  purposes,  her  father  allowed  her  to  do  a  little 
business  in  her  own  name.  These  earnings,  ordinarily 


106  MARGARET. 

devoted  to  some  species  of  amusement  or  literary  end,  she 
now  as  sedulously  hoarded  as  increased.  She  discovered 
where  Briickniann  had  some  pupils  in  a  private  family. 
Thither,  taking  her  private  purse,  she  went ;  sought  her 
way  to  his  room,  and  seated  herself  among  the  scholars. 
She  heard  the  recitation,  and  the  remarks  that  accompanied 
it.  She  discerned  the  originality  of  Briickmann's  mind, 
as  she  had  formerly  been  interested  in  the  character  of  his 
sensibilities.  He  spoke  in  a  feeble  tone,  but  with  a  sug- 
gestive emphasis.  She  knew  well  the  causes  of  his  depres- 
sion. He  sang  also  to  his  pupils  one  of  his  native  hymns ; 
she  admired  its  beauty  and  force,  and  perhaps  more  the 
voice  of  the  singer.  She  staid  behind  when  the  scholars 
left.  He  spoke  to  her.  She  replied,  to  his  surprise,  in  his 
own  language,  or  something  akin  to  it.  She  told  him  who 
she  was,  that  she  had  heard  his  story,  and  she  compassion- 
ated his  wants,  that  her  father  was  abundantly  rich,  and 
that  from  her  own  earnings  she  had  saved  him  some  money. 
She  pressed  upon  him  her  purse,  which  neither  delicacy 
demanded,  nor  would  necessity  allow  that  he  should  refuse. 
She  told  him  how  much  she  had  been  interested  in  his 
history  ;  she  desired  him  to  repeat  it. 

She  was  reproached  and  maledicted  by  her  father,  on 
her  return,  although  he  knew  not  where  she  had  been.  An 
idea  had  seized  her,  and  for  that  she  was  willing  to  sacri- 
fice every  thing.  It  had  neither  shape,  nor  color,  nor  defi- 
nition, nor  end.  She  thought  of  it  when  she  went  to  bed, 
she  dreamed  of  it,  she  awoke  with  it.  She  would  see  the 
stranger.  She  went  again  to  his  school-room.  She  walked 
with  him  on  the  Parade.  "  Tell  me,"  she  would  say, "  more 
about  Margaret.  How  old  was  she  ?  How  did  she  look  ? 
How  did  you  love  her?  Why  did  you  love  her?"  He 
would  rehearse  all  he  had  said  before,  and  discover  new 
particulars  *ach  time. 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.      107 

"  Were  her  parents  rich  or  poor?  "  asked  Jane. 

"  Poor,"  replied  Briickmann. 

'*  Happy,  happy  Margaret !  O  if  my  father  was  poor  as 
the  sheerest  mendicant  I  should  be  happy." 

"  You  may  be  able  to  do  much  good  with  your  money, 
sometime  or  another." 

"  I  see  nothing  before  me  but  darkness  and  gloom,"  re- 
plied Jane.  "  My  father, — you  know  what  he  is.  My  dear, 
dear  mother,  too  fond  of  her  child,  too  opposed  to  her  hus- 
band, too  indulgent,  too  kind, — she  has  gone  from  my  love 
and  my  approach  forever.  I  may  be  in  the  midst  of  afflu- 
ence, I  am  cursed,  blighted  by  a  destitution  such  as  you 
know  nothing  of.  Gold  may  be  my  inheritance,  my  pros- 
pects are  all  worthless,  fearful,  sombre.  You  say  you  will 
meet  Margaret  in  heaven ! " 

"  Speak  freely  with  me,"  said  Bruckmann,  "  I  love  to 
hear,  if  I  cannot  answer.  Margaret  and  I  often  talked  of 
what  we  could  not  comprehend.  We  strove  to  lift  each, 
other  up,  even  if  we  made  no  advance.  She  had  a  deep 
soul,  an  unbounded  aspiration.  "We  sang  of  heaven,  and 
then  we  began  to  feel  it.  We  were  more  Sphinxes  than 
(Edipuses.  Yet  she  became  heaven  to  me,  when  there 
was  none  in  the  skies.  She  was  a  transparent,  articulate 
revelation  of  God." 

"  How  I  should  love  Margaret !  "  said  Jane  to  him  one 
day.  "  What  was  the  color  of  her  hair  ?  like  yours  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Briickmann  ;  "  as  I  have  told  you,  she  was 
not  of  German  origin.  Her  ancestors  came  from  Langue- 
doc  in  the  Religious  Wars.  She  was  more  tropical  in  her 
features,  and  perhaps  in  her  heart,  than  I.  She  had  black 
hair  and  eyes ;  she  resembled  you,  Miss  Girardeau,  I  think." 

"  How  I  wish  I  could  see  her ! "  replied  Jane.  "  You 
say  she  does  come  to  you  sometimes  ?  " 


108  MARGARET. 

"  Ye?,"  said  Briickmann,"  and  since  I  have  known  you 
she  comes  more  frequently,  more  clearly.  My  perishing 
heart  had  scarce  power  to  evoke  her.  My  song  becan  e 
too  faint  a  medium.  You  have  revived  those  visions,  and 
refreshing  communions." 

"  Then  I  am  happy,"  said  Jane  ;  "  I  knew  not  that  I 
had  such  a  power.  You,  fir,  know  not  the  misery  of  being 
able  to  make  no  one  happy.  I  torture  my  father,  I  plague 
Samuel.  I  am  of  use  to  no  one.  And  my  poor  self  answers 
not  for  itself  ! " 

"  How  could  you  fight  against  our  poor  country?  "  she 
one  day  asked  him. 

"  I  never  did,"  he  said  ;  "  my  heart  was  with  the  Amer- 
icans. I  was  forced  into  the  work.  I  was  bayoneted  to 
the  lines.  My  musket  shared  the  indisposition  of  its  owner, 
and  shot  at  random.  Wounds  that  had  been  spared  by  those 
against  whom  I  was  arrayed  were  anticipated  by  my  own 
officers.  At  this  moment  I  am  sensible  of  the  pain." 

"  Yet  you  might  have  been  killed  in  battle,"  said  she, 
"  and  I,  poor,  ridiculous,  selfish  me !  should  never  have 
seen  you." 

"  Nor  I  you,"  he  rejoined  ;  "  I  know  not  which  is  the  most 
indebted." 

These  interviews  could  not  be  repeated  without  coming 
to  the  knowledge,  or  kindling  the  indignation  of  Mr.  Girar- 
deau.  He  noticed  the  frequent,  and  sometimes  protracted 
absences  of  his  daughter ;  he  traced  them  to  the  indigent 
German,  whose  application  for  money  he  denied,  to  the 
villanous  musician  that  had  given  him  so  much  annoyance. 
His  passion  had  no  bounds.  He  ceased  to  expostulate  ; 
he  raved,  he  threatened  ;  he  shut  Jane  into  her  chamber, 
he  barred  the  door  and  declared  he  would  starve  her.  As 
Jane  had  never  learned  filial  obedience,  so  she  had  not 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.       109 

disciplined  herself  to  ordinary  patience.  Even  in  matters 
that  concerned  her  interest  and  happiness  most  vitally,  she 
was  impetuous  and  inconsiderate.  She  could  bear  im- 
prisonment, she  could  bear  starvation,  she  could  bear  invec- 
tive and  violence ;  she  could  not  endure  separation  from 
BrUckmann.  She  experienced,  in  respect  of  him,  new  and 
joyous  sensations  that  enchained  her  existence.  She  looked 
on  him  as  a  superior  being.  She  felt  that  he  alone  could 
understand  her,  appreciate  or  sympathize  with  her.  She 
felt  that  of  the  mass  about  her,  he  only  seemed  to  have  a 
common  nature  with  her.  She  thought  not  of  his  poverty 
or  his  dejection.  She  thought  only  of  his  soul  into  which 
she  could  pour  her  own.  She  was  eager  for  him,  as  a  child 
for  its  mother's  breast.  His  love  for  Margaret  Bruneau 
only  heightened  his  value  in  her  eyes.  He  seemed  for  his 
devotion  to  Margaret  Bruneau,  purer,  greater,  diviner. 
He  and  Margaret  constituted  to  her  mind  a  delightful  com 
pany.  She  entered  a  magic  circle  when  she  came  into 
their  communion.  She  became  one  of  a  glorious  trio.  Then 
she  saw  herself  interpreted  and  symbolized  in  Margaret ; 
and  she  acted  as  a  conjuration  to  bring  that  delightful  vision 
from  the  shades.  BrUckmann  she  assisted,  encouraged, 
enlivened ;  she  rendered  him  more  hopeful,  more  happy. 
And  she  herself  had  no  life,  except  as  he  was  able  to  ex- 
plain that  life.  His  soul  seemed  to  respond  to  hers,  and 
her  own  grew  serener  and  stiller  as  it  received  that  re- 
sponse. "  He,  too,  will  suffer,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  if  he 
sees  me  not.  His  own  heart  will  break  again  Margaret 
Bruneau  will  come  to  him  no  more ; "  and  every  thought 
of  his  uneasiness  or  suspense  vibrated,  like  a  fire,  through 
her  sensations. 

Mr.  Girardeau  waited  to  see  some  tokens  of  his  daugh- 
ter's repentance  and  amendment,  but  none  appeared.     The 

VOL.  I.  10 


110  MARGARET. 

more  completely  to  secure  his  purposes,  he  instigated  a 
prosecution  against  Bruckmann,  on  the  score  of  debt,  and 
had  him  thrown  into  the  City  Jail.  The  old  gentleman 
then  approached  his  daughter,  apprised  her  of  what  had 
befallen  her  friend,  and  announced  his  final  decision.  He 
told  her  if  ever  she  saw  Bruckmann  again,  if  ever  she 
communicated  with  him  by  word  or  letter,  he  would  turn 
her  into  the  streets,  close  his  doors  upon  her  forever,  and 
cast  her  out  to  utter  shame  and  wretchedness.  With  what- 
ever tone  or  spirit  this  sentence  may  have  been  distin- 
guished, and  there  could  be  no  mistake  as  to  its  general  pur- 
port, its  effect  on  Jane  was  scarcely  perceptible.  Her  die 
was  cast,  her  resolution  taken.  She  undid  the  fastenings 
of  her  room  and  escaped  into  the  street. 

Going  to  the  jail,  she  obtained  access  to  the  cell  and  was 
locked  in  with  Bruckmann.  Through  his  drooping  heart  and 
wasting  frame  he  received  her  with  a  bland,  welcome  smile. 
She  fell  at  his  feet,  and  vented  herself  in  a  torrent  of  tears. 
His  kindness  reassured  her,  and  she  told  him  what  had 
transpired.  "  But,"  she  continued,  "  Gottfried,  I  must  see 
you,  I  must  be  with  you,  I  cannot  live  away  from  you,  I 
die  without  you.  Existence  has  not  the  faintest  charm, 
not  a  solitary  point  of  interest,  if  I  am  separated  from  you. 
You  have  awakened  within  me  every  dormant  and  be- 
numbed faculty.  You  have  spread  over  time  the  hues  of 
a  higher  being.  You  have  given  back  to  my  soul  the  only 
answer  it  ever  received  ;  with  your  eyes  I  have  looked  into 
myself  and  discovered  some  beauty  there,  where  before 
was  only  a  deep  and  frightful  chaos.  In  a  world  of  shal- 
lowness  and  stupidity  you  alone  have  anticipated,  under- 
stood and  valued  me.  I  repose  on  you  as  on  the  breast  of 
God.  You  have  introduced  me  to  an  elevated  communion  ; 
you  have  welcomed  me  to  the  participation  of  yourself  and 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.      Ill 

Margaret ;  you  have  inspired  me  with  a  desire  to  know 
more  of  the  laws  of  the  spirit's  life.     For  all  this  I  have 
made  you  no  return.     I  am  little,  how  little !  to  you.     You 
owe  me  nothing,  I  owe  you  every  thing." 
"  Jane, — "  said  he. 

"  Do  not  interrupt  me  row,"  she  continued.  "  Let  my 
poor  soul  have  its  say.  It  may  be  its  last.  I  have  now 
no  home  on  earth  but  you.  May  I  remain  with  you  ?  May 
I  hear  your  voice,  look  into  your  eyes,  be  blessed  and  illu- 
mined by  your  spirit?  " 

"  Is  it  possible,"  asked  Briickmann,  "  that  your  father  will 
never  relent?  He  needs  you,  his  own  fortune  is  under 
obligations  to  you." 

"  You  know  not  my  father"  was  the  decisive  reply. 
"  He  is  fixed,  inexorable,  as  the  God  he  serves.  I  look  to 
you,  or  to  vacancy,  to  nought,  to  the  sepulchral  abyss  of  my 
own  soul,  to  the  interminable  night  of  my  own  thoughts 
To  be  poor  is  nothing,  to  be  an  outcast  is  nothing ;  to  be 
away  from  you  is  worse  than  all  calamities  condensed  in 
one  blow.  Do  not  be  distressed,  my  good  Gottfried.  I 
will  not  embarrass  you.  Gottfried — I  will  marry  you — I 
do  embarrass  you.  I  do  distress  you — I  will  not.  No ! 
I  go  away — I  leave  you. — Farewell,  Gottfried ! " 
"  Stay  ! "  replied  he,  "  do  not  go  away." 
"  Speak  to  me,"  she  said.  "  Chide  me,  spurn  me.  I 
can  bear  any  thing.  I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  weep. 
I  can  stiffen  myself  into  insensibility.  I  will  sit  here  un- 
moved as  a  curb-stone.  Speak,  Gottfried,  speak,  if  you 
kill  me." 

"  Jane,"  said  he,  very  kindly,  "  you  have  nothing  to  fear, 
from  me,  we  have  nothing  to  fear  from  each  other.  We 
know  each  other  too  well  to  be  alarmed  by  surprises,  or 
perplexed  at  disclosures.  We  have  no  secrets  to  keep  or 


112  MARGARET. 

to  reveal,  no  hopes  to  indulge  or  disappoint.  Our  natures 
are  bared  to  each  other ;  our  several  destinies  too  well  un- 
derstood ;  a  word,  the  faintest  expression  of  a  wish  is  suffi- 
cient. You  know  Margaret,  I  need  not — 

"  No,  Mr.  Briickmann,  you  need  not — 

"Call  me  Gottfried.  Margaret  called  me  Gottfried. 
You  must  never  call  me  any  thing  else." 

"  O,"  said  she,  "  if  I  could  do  Margaret's  least  office  for 
you,  if  I  could  ever  remind  you  of  her!  And  this  assimi- 
lates me  nearer  to  her.  It  gives  me  a  prerogative,  which, 
with  all  my  rashness,  I  should  hardly  otherwise  dare  to 
claim.  But  you  need  not  speak  to  me  of  her.  I  know  all 
about  it,  and  you,  and  her.  Yet  not  as  a  beggar,  not  as  a 
friend,  not  as  one  who  has  the  slightest  demand  on  your 
notice,  yet  I  say,  obeying  an  impulse  which  I  know  how 
neither  to  control  nor  define,  but  which  is  deep  as  the  cen- 
tral fires  of  my  being,  I  ask  for  entrance,  for  a  home,  in 
that  which  you  are,  for  fellowship  with  you  and  all  your 
life.  Tell  me  more  of  Margaret ;  I  will  grow  up  into  her 
image  ;  I  will  transmute  myself  to  her  nature.  You  shall 
have  a  double  Margaret ;  no,  not  double,  but  one.  Nay, 
if  needs  be,  I  will  go  out  of  myself;  I  will  be  the  servant 
of  you  both.  Call  me  your  child,  your  and  Margaret's 
child,  your  spirit-child,  and  so  love  me.  And  when  we  get 
to  Heaven,  you  may  do  what  you  will  with  me.  Sure  I 
am,  I  shall  never  get  there  if  you  do  not  take  me.  I  can- 
not sing,  as  you  say  she  could.  But  my  soul  sings.  I  can 
describe  with  my  sensations  as  many  octaves  and  variations 
as  you  on  your  flute  ;  and  with  your  nice  ear  perhaps  you 
could  hear  some  pleasant  strains.  Away  from  you,  I  am 
all  discord,  a  jangling  of  broken  and  bewildered  emotion." 

"  Have  you  thought,"  asked  Gottfried,  "  how  we  should 
be  situated.  This  prison  is  my  home  now,  and  I  have  no 
better  prospect  for  the  future." 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.      113 

"  I  have  enough  in  my  purse,"  said  Jane,  "  to  release 
you.  You  can  teach  as  you  have  done.  I  perhaps  could 
give  instruction  in  the  more  popular  branches." 

"  Dear  Jane  !  "  said  he,  "  you  are  dearer  to  me  than  all 
on  earth  beside.  But  how  fade  all  earth  scenes  from  my 
thought !  I  feel  myself  vanishing  into  the  spirit-world. 
Daily  I  perceive  the  hand  of  destiny  lying  more  heavily 
upon  me.  Hourly  invisible  cords  are  drawing  me  away. 
The  echoes  of  my  song  sound  louder  and  louder  from  the 
shadowy  shore." 

"  Ah,  dearest  Gottfried  !  if  you  die,  I  will  die  too.  I 
cannot  live  without  you  ;  I  cannot  survive  you ;  I  perish 
with  you.  I  will  be  absorbed  with  you  into  the  Infinite. 
All  your  presentiments  I  share." 

"We  will  be  married,"  answered  Gottfried.  "I  have 
loved  you  ;  I  will  still  love  you  ;  you  deserve  my  love. 
Margaret  Bruneau  too  will  love  you  ;  and  the  heaven- 
crowned  shall  bestow  her  blessing  on  the  earth-worn." 

Jane  procured  his  release  from  prison,  by  paying  debts 
and  costs  of  suit.  They  went  to  the  house  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 

,  a  kind  and  benevolent  old  clergyman,  by  whom  the 

marriage  ceremony  was  performed,  the  wife  and  daughter 
of  the  rector  being  present  as  witnesses.  They  knelt  on  a 
couch  for  an  altar ;  the  long  black  hair  of  the  bride  gath- 
ered loosely  about  her  temples  and  skirting  a  clear  marble 
neck,  and  her  dark  eyes,  contrasting  the  light  thick  hair, 
deep  blue  eyes,  and  flickering  pale  face  of  the  groom,  pro- 
duced a  subdued  and  sad  impression  in  the  mind  of  the 
observer ;  yet  the  evening  light  of  their  souls,  for  such  it 
seemed  to  be,  coming  out  at  that  hour,  shed  over  them  a 
soft,  sweet  glow.  The  old  man  blessed  them,  and  they 
departed. 

They  sought  lodgings  in  a  quarter  of  the  city  at  some 
10* 


114  MARGARET. 

distance  from  their  former  abode.  Briickmann  was  ena- 
bled to  form  a  small  class  in  French.  If  female  education 
or  the  employment  of  female  instructors  had  been  as  com- 
mon in  those  days  as  at  the  present  time,  Jane  might  have 
directed  the  powers  with  which  Nature  had  enriched  her 
to  some  advantage.  She  secured,  in  fact,  but  a  solitary 
pupil,  and  that  one  more  anxious  to  be  taught  dancing  and 
dressing  than  to  advance  in  any  solid  acquisition.  She 
found  a  more  satisfactory  as  Well  as  promising  task  in  per- 
fecting Briickmann  in  the  English  language.  This  difficulty 
once  surmounted,  she  fancied  he  would  be  able  to  pursue 
his  practice  to  any  desirable  extent.  So  five  or  six  months 
passed  away. — Whether  it  was  the  seeds  of  disease  consti- 
tutionally inherited,  the  effect  of  disappointment,  want, 
heartache,  he  had  been  called  to  endure,  the  internal  pro- 
gress of  his  wound,  or  his  own  presentiments  acting  upon 
an  imagination  sufficiently  susceptible — Briickmann  fell 
sick.  He  lay  upon  his  bed  week  by  week.  Jane  aban- 
doned every  thing  to  take  care  of  him. 
"  Jane,"  said  he,  "  I  must  die." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  replied,  "  you  told  me  you  should  soon 
die.     I  believed  it  then,  I  am  prepared  for  it  now." 
"  Voices,"  he  added,  "  are  calling  me  away." 
"  I  know  that  too,"  ehe  rejoined ;  "I  hear  them." 
"  An  inward  force  propels  my  spirit  from  me." 
"Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  feel  it." 

She  bent  over  him,  not  as  over  a  sick  and  dying  man, 
but  a  convalescing  angel.  He  seemed  to  her  not  to  be 
wasting  to  skin  and  bones,  but  to  spirit  and  life.  His  eye 
brightened,  his  smile  was  sweeter,  as  he  grew  paler  and 
thinner, 

"  I  wish  you  would  sing  to  me,  Jane." 
"  I  am  full  of  music  and  song,"  she  said,  "  can  you  not 
hear  me?     All  that  you  have  ever  played    or  sung,  or 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.      115 

spoken,  leaps,  trills,  is  joyous,  within  me.  Do  you  not 
hear  a  soft  chanting  ?  " 

"'Yes,"  he  replied;  "it  sounds  like  the  voice  of  Jesus 
and  Margaret." 

"  How  glad  I  am  our  little  Margaret  is  to  have  her  birth- 
place in  song ! "  said  Jane.  "  She  feeds  on  melodies.  Yet 
if  I  should  die  before  her  birth,  will  she  die  too  ?  Tell 
me,  Gottfried." 

"  I  think  her  spirit  will  go  with  ours,"  he  answered. 

"  Then  we  could  nourish  and  mould  the  undeveloped, 
unformed  spirit  in  heaven.  And  our  other  Margaret 
will  be  there  to  help  us  bring  up  the  little  Margaret.  Will 
Jesus  bless  our  child,  as  you  say  he  blessed  the  children  of 
olden  times?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gottfried.  "  He  died  for  all,  and  lives 
to  give  all  life." 

"  I  shall  not  need  to  make  her  clothes  ?  " 

"  You  had  better  do  that,  Jane,  we  may  both  survive  her 
birth." 

Acting  upon  this  hint,  their  private  funds  having  become 
well  nigh  exhausted,  she  repaired  to  her  father's  house  to 
procure  some  articles  of  her  own,  out  of  which  suitable 
garment's  might  be  prepared.  By  a  back  entrance  she 
ascended  to  her  old  chamber,  where,  as  the  event  should 
prove,  Mr.  Girardeau  detecting  her,  drove  her  off.  At 
this  moment,  as  she  retreated  through  the  store,  Nimrod, 
who  in  the  mean  time  had  succeeded  to  the  deceased  Sam- 
uel, saw  her,  as  has  been  related  in  the  previous  chapter. 
Here,  also,  the  two  episodical  branches  of  this  memoir 
unite. 

When  Nimrod  learned  from  Mr.  Girardeau  who  the 
woman  was,  how  she  stood  related  to  him,  and  what  were 
her  fortune  and  condition,  we  may  naturally  imagine 


116  MARGARET. 

his  curiosity,  always  restive,  always  errant,  would  be  more 
than  usually  aroused.  A  new  object  presented  itself;  he 
must  pry  into  it.  Having  ascertained  the  place  of  Jane 
and  Gottfried's  residence,  being  out  of  an  errand,  he  made 
bold  to  enter  the  house,  and  knock  at  the  door. 

"Ax  your  pardon,  marm,"  he  said,  shuffling  into  the 
room,  as  Jane  opened  the  door,  and  the  sick  man  lay  on 
the  bed  before  him ;  "  hope  I  don't  intrude.  I  sarve  at 
Master  Girarder's,  since  Samuel's  dead.  I  am  the  fellow 
what  see  you  running  out  of  the  store  like  a  duck  arter 
a  tumble-bug.  What  was  you  so  skeered  for  ?  I  wouldn't 
a  hurt  you  any  more  than  an  old  shoe.  I  guess  the  old  gen- 
tleman ain't  any  better  than  he  should  be — " 

"  Young  man  !  "  said  Janet  breaking  in  upon  him,  "  who- 
ever you  are,  we  have  no  connection  with  Mr.  Girardeau." 

"Yes — marm,"  said  Nhnrod,  who,  nothing  daunted,  ap- 
proached the  bed.  Gottfried  rose  a  little,  with  his  wan, 
beautiful  face.  Jane,  paler  if  possible,  and  more  beautiful, 
held  her  arm  under  his  head,  and  her  dark,  loving  eyes 
brimmed  with  tears,  the  nature  of  which  Nimrod  could  not 
understand. 

"I  vum,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  If  the  Widder 
was  here  she  could  cure  him  in  a  wink.  Won't  your  Dad 
let  you  go  home  ?  Won't  he  give  you  a  limb  to  roost  on  ! 
I  tell  you  what  it  is,  he's  close  as  a  mink  in  winter ;  he's 
hard  as  grubbing  bushes.  I  don't  guess  he's  so  poor." 

Jane,  remembering  her  father's  servants  in  Samuel,  who 
was  a  perfect  creature  of  his  master,  if  at  first  she  was 
annoyed  by  the  familiarity  of  Nimrod  or  was  suspicious 
of  his  motives,  soon  perceived  that  his  manner  was  undis- 
guised and  rusticity  sincere,  She  was  led  to  question  him 
as  to  himself  and  who  he  was.  He  gave  her  his  real  name, 
and  that  of  his  parents.  In  fact  he  became  quite  commu- 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.      117 

nicative,  and  rendered  a  full  description  of  his  family,  their 
residence  and  mode  of  life.  He  was  pleased  with  his  visit, 
which  he  promised  to  repeat,  and  whenever  he  had  a  chance, 
he  dropped  in  to  see  his  new  found  friends.  As  our  readers 
will  have  anticipated  the  result  of  this  story  of  Gottfried 
Briickmann  and  Jane  Girardeau,  we  shall  hasten  to  its 
close.  When  Mr.  Girardeau  became  apprised  of  the  real 
situation  of  his  daughter,  he  manifested  deep  disturbance 
of  spirit.  He  addressed  himself  anew  to  Nimrod.  "  That 
girl,"  said  he,  "  is  a  runaway,  a  spendthrift,  a  wanton.  She 
is  about  to  have  a  child,  the  fruit  of  her  reckless,  ruinous 
misconduct.  That  child  may  do  me  an  injury,  a  great 
injury.  The  offspring  of  that  viper  may  turn  upon  me 
with  the  malignity  of  the  mother.  That  child  must  be 
watched.  You  know,  Mr.  Foxly,  we  are  identified  in 
interest.  You  know  if  I  let  you  go,  or  you  me,  we  both 
fall.  That  child  must  be  watched.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 
"  That  wa'nt  in  the  bargain  when  I  came  to  live  with 
ye,"  replied  Nimrod.  "  I  must  have  a  little  more,  a  little 
of  the  ready." 

Nothing  could  be  more  opportune  for  Nimrod.  He  was 
now  at  liberty  to  prosecute  his  visits  to  Jane  and  Gottfried 
at  his  leisure.  Whatever  money  he  obtained  from  Mr. 
Girardeau,  eked  out  by  his  own  scant  purse,  he  applied  to 
their  necessities.  He  felt  himself  to  be  of  more  conse- 
quence than  he  had  ever  been  before,  and  although  ex- 
ercising his  function  rather  pragmatically,  he  made  himself 
greatly  useful.  Briickmann  grew  more  feeble  ;  Jane  ap- 
proached the  period  of  her  child's  birth. 

"  Nimrod,"  said  she  a  few  days  before  that  event,  "  we 
are  going  to  die." 

"  No,  no,"  he  rejoined.  "  He'll  give  up  the  ghost  as  sure 
as  wild  geese  in  cold  weather.  But  you  will  come  out  as 
bright  as  a  yaller  bird  in  spring." 


118  MARGARET. 

"  We  must  die — I  shall  die,"  she  continued,  hardly  no- 
ticing what  he  said,  having  become  quite  used  to  his  man- 
ner. "  We  have  loved,  tenderly  loved,  if  you  know  what 
that  means." 

"  Yes — marm,"  replied  Nimrod.  "  If  I  am  a  Ponder 
and  you  live  in  the  city,  you  need'nt  think  we  are  as  dull 
as  millers  that  fly  right  into  your  links  and  never  know 
whether  they  are  singed  or  not.  When  I  have  been  by 
uncle  Bill  Palmer's,  that  lives  at  the  Ledge,  as  you  go  up 
to  Dunwich,  and  seen  his  Rhody  out  there,  jolly  !  she  has 
gone  right  through  me  like  an  earwig ;  it  sticks  to  me  like 
a  bobolink  to  a  saplin  in  a  wind.  I  an't  afeered  of  the  old 
Harry  himself,  but  I  say  for't !  I  never  dare  speak  to 
Rhody.  But  you  great  folks  here  don't  care  any  thing 
about  us,  no  more  than  Matty  Gisborne  and  Bet  Weeks 
down  among  the  settlers." 

"  Yes  I  do  care  for  you,"  said  Jane  ;  "  you  have  been 
very  kind  to  us.  I  know  not  what  we  should  have  done 
without  you.  But  we  are  really  going  to  die.  It  has  been 
foretold  that  we  should." 

"  O  yes,"  said  Nimrod,  relapsing  into  a  more  thought- 
ful mood,  "  I  remember.  I  heard  a  dog  howl  in  the  streets 
the  other  night,  and  I  dreamed  of  seeing  monkeys,  and  that 
is  sartin  death." 

"  You  must  bury  us,  Nimrod,"  continued  Jane.  "  And 
you  must  promise  one  thing,  to  take  care  of  our  child.  Its 
name  is  Margaret,  you  must  call  it  by  no  other.  You  will 
contrive  means  to  take  it  to  your  own  home,  the  Pond. 
You  are  poor,  you  say,  that  is  the  greatest  of  blessings. 
Your  house  is  apart  from  the  world.  Your  little  brother 
Chilion  you  think  would  love  it  as  his  own  sister.  Now 
promise  us,  Nimrod,  that  you  will  do  all  we  desire." 
'  Nimrod  not  only  promised,  but  volunteered  a  declaration 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.       119 

having  the  full  weight  of  an  oath,  that  her  wishes  regarding 
the  child  should  be  studiously  fulfilled.  At  this  crisis  they 
were  also  visited  by  a  daughter  of  the  clergyman  who  married 
them ;  she  having  become  informed  of  their  state,  sought 
to  minister  to  their  needs.  Briickmann  died  as  he  had  pre- 
saged.  "  Farewell,  Jane  !  "  he  said.  "  Yet  not  farewell, 
but,  follow  me.  I  kiss  you  for  the  night,  and  you  shall  see 
me  in  the  morning.  The  sun  fades,  the  stars  glow,  brighter 
worlds  await  us.  We  go  to  those  who  love  us."  Nimrod 
bent  reverently  over  the  dead  form,  that  did  perhaps  what 
life  itself  could  never  have  done,  it  made  of  the  strong  man  a 
child,  and  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes.  Jane  knelt  calmly, 
hopefully  by  his  side,  kissed  his  lips,  and  smoothed  the 
bright  curling  locks  of  his  hair.  Nimrod,  assisted  by  the 
clergyman  before  mentioned,  and  some  of  Briickmann's 
countrymen  that  remained  in  the  city  as  servants,  bakers, 
or  scavengers,  and  could  do  little  more  for  their  old  friend 
than  bear  him  to  his  grave,  saw  him  decently  buried.  The 
wife  and  daughter  of  the  clergyman  were  with  Jane  at  the 
period  she  had  anticipated  with  so  much  interest.  Her 
hour  came,  and  as  she  had  predicted,  a  girl,  the  "  little 
Margaret,"  was  born.  She  lingered  on  a  few  days,  without 
much  apparent  suffering  or  anxiety,  blessed  her  child,  and 
melted  away  at  last  in  the  clouds  of  mortal  vision.  The 
child  was  taken  in  charge  by  those  ladies  who  had  kindly 
assisted  at  its  birth. 

Mr.  Girardeau,  who  had  exhibited  ceaseless  anxiety,  as 
well  as  glimpses  of  some  unnatural  design,  during  these 
events,  the  progress  of  which  he  obliged  Nimrod  carefully 
to  report,  ordered  the  child  to  be  brought  to  his  house. 
His  language  was,  "  it  must  be  put  out  of  the  way." 
It  was  a  dark  night ;  Mr.  Girardeau,  availing  himself  of  a 
weakness  of  his  servant,  plentifully  supplied  him  with 
liquor.  He  also  threatened  him,  in  case  of  disobedience, 


120  MAIUJARKT. 

with  a  legal  prosecution  on  the  score  of  his  smuggling  con- 
nections.    Nimrod,  sufficiently  in  drink    to  rnuke  a  rash 
promise,  started  for  the  child.     But  apprehensions  of  some 
dark  or  bloody  deed  came  over  him  ;  the  recollection  of  his 
solemn  vows  to  the  mother  of  the  child  upbraided  him  ;  the 
spectral  shadows  cast  by  the  street-lamps  startled  him.     lie 
remembered  the  smuggling  vessel  which  had  made  another 
trip,  and  was  about  to  return.     The  child  was  delivered  to 
him,  and   in   place  of  going  back  to  his  master,  he  made 
directly  for  the  sloop,  which  was  even  then  on  the  point  of 
sailing.     The  captain  and  crew,  however  serviceable  they 
might  be  to  Mr.  Girardeau's  interest,  cherished  little  respect 
for  his  character,  and  Nimrod  had  no  difficulty  in  enlisting 
their  aid  for  his  purposes.     We  need  not  follow  him  all  the 
way  to  the  Pond,  or  recite  the  methods  he  adopted  to  sus- 
tain and  nourish  the  child.     On  his  way  up  the  river  he 
found  plenty  of  milk  in  the  cabin.     Leaving  the  vessel,  he 
spent  one  night  in  the  shanty  of  an  Irishman,  whose  wife 
having  a  nursling  at  her  side,  cheerfully  relinquished  to 
Margaret  one  half  of  her  supply.     One  night  he  slept  with 
his  charge  in  a  barn.     On  the  third  evening  he  reached  his 
home.     The  family  were  all  abed  ;  his  father  and  mother, 
however,  were  soon  ready  to  welcome  their  son.     Surprise 
was  of  course  their  first  emotion  when  they  saw  what  he 
had  with  him.     He  recounted  the  history  of  the  child,  and 
his  purpose  to  have  it  adopted  in  the  family.     The  course 
of  his  observations  on  the  subject  was  such,  as  to  allay 
whatever  repugnance  either  of  his  parents  may  have  felt 
to  the  project,  and  they  became  as  ready  to  receive  the 
little  stranger  as  they  might  have  been  originally  averse. 

"  Call  up  Hash  and  Chilion,"  said  Pluck.     "  The  child 
must  be  baptized  to-night" 
"  Wait  till  to-morrow,  do  Dad,"  said  Nimrod.     "  I  guess 


GOTTFRIED  BRUCKMANN  AND  JANE  GIRARDEAU.        121 

she  needs  something  to  wet  her  stomach  more  than  her 
head." 

"  Fix  her  something,  woman,  can't  wait." 

His  wife  prepared  a  drink  for  the  child,  while  Nimrod 
aroused  his  brothers.  Chilion,  then  a  boy,  seven  or  eight 
years  old,  held  a  pine-torch  that  streamed  and  smoked 
through  the  room.  Mistress  Hart  supported  the  child, 
while  Nimrod  and  Hash  stood  sponsers.  The  old  man 
called  her  Mary.  "  No,  Dad,"  interposed  Nimrod, "  it  must 
be  Margaret." 

"  No !  Mary,"  replied  his  father,  "  in  honor  of  my 
esteemed  wife.  Besides,  that's  a  Bible  name,  and  we  can't 
liquor  up  on  Margaret.  Yours  is  a  good  name,  and  you 
never  will  see  cause  to  repent  it ;  and  there  is  Maharshal- 
alhashbaz, — that  I  chose  because  it  was  the  longest  in  the 
Bible  ;  I  wanted  to  show  my  reverence  for  the  book  by 
taking  as  much  of  it  as  I  could  ;  and  Chilion's  is  a  good 
one  too  ;  all  Bible  names  in  this  family." 

"  I  tell  you  no,  Dad,  she  must  be  called  Margaret"  repeated 
Nimrod. 

"  Do  call  her  Margaret,"  said  Chilion. 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  Pluck,  "  we  will  put  it  to  vote. — 
Three  for  Margaret,  I  shall  call  her  Mary,  and  Hash  goes 
for  Peggy.  We  won't  break  heads  about  it,  if  we  do  we 
shan't  the  bottle.  So  here  goes  for  Margaret  and  Mary." 

The  family,  severally  and  collectively,  laid  themselves 
under  strict  injunctions  to  keep  the  history  of  the  child  a 
secret,  and  cherish  it  as  their  own.  Mr.  Hart  and  his  little 
son  Chilion  were  glad  enough  to  receive  it  on  its  own 
account ;  Mistress  Hart,  if  for  no  other  reason,  in  consider- 
ation of  the  money  Nimrod  represented  he  would  get  from 
its  grandfather,  a  reflection  that  prevailed  with  Hash  also. 
The  secluded  position  of  the  family  rendered  it  possible 

VOL.  I.  11 


122  MARGARET. 

indeed  for  children  to  be  born  and  die  without  exciting 
observation.  Their  neighbor,  the  Widow  Wright,  was  the 
only  person  from  whom  they  hud  cause  of  apprehension. 
It  was  presumed  however  to  be  an  easy  matter  to  bring 
her  into  the  arrangement  of  secrecy,  which  was  accordingly 
done  by  an  oath  sealed  with  a  small  douceur.  In  behalf  of 
the  child  were  enlisted  both  the  Widow's  superstition  and 
her  avarice.  What  might  befall  her  son  Obed,  then  six  or 
seven  years  of  age,  she  knew  not.  So  Margaret  was  only 
spoken  of  as  a  child  of  the  Pond.  When  Obed  asked  his 
mother  where  the  little  baby  came  from,  she  said  it  dropped 
from  an  acorn-tree. 

Such  is  the  origin  of  Margaret,  who  a  few  months  later 
has  been  phantasmagorically  introduced  to  our  readers. 

We  might  add,  in  conclusion  of  this  chapter,  that  Nirarod, 
the  next  year,  made  a  visit  to  New  York,  and  sought  an 
interview  with  his  old  master.  The  disappointment,  chagrin 
and  displeasure  of  the  latter  were  evidently  great.  Their 
conference  was  long  and  bitter.  In  the  result,  Nimrod 
declared  in  cant  phrase  that  he  would  "  blow  "  on  the  old 
gentleman,  not  only  as  a  smuggler,  but  as  a  murderer,  unless 
he  would  settle  on  the  child  a  small  annual  sum,  to  be 
delivered  at  sight.  To  such  a  bond  Mr.  Girardeau  was 
obliged  to  give  his  signature.  He  asked  where  the  child 
was,  but  on  this  point  Nimrod  kept  a  rigid  silence. 


TRAINING   DAT.  123 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

RETURNS  TO  MARGARET,  WHO  ADVANCES  IN  CHILDHOOD  AND 
KNOWLEDGE  OF  THE  WORLD. 

MILITARY  Trainings  we  have  alluded  to  as  a  sort  of 
New  England  holiday.  Pluck,  taking  with  him  Margaret, 
Hash,  Chilion  and  the  dog,  went  down  to  the  village  at  an 
early  hour.  The  Green  flowed  with  people,  soldiers,  men, 
women  and  children.  Portions  of  the  horse-sheds  were 
converted  into  booths  for  the  sale  of  liquors,  fruits  and 
bread  ;  wheelbarrows  and  carts  were  converted  to  tlie  same 
use.  An  angle  of  the  Meeting-house,  Mr.  Smith,  the  Tavern 
Keeper  at  No.  4,  appropriated  for  his  peculiar  calling. 
Pluck  engaged  himself  as'tapster  in  one  of  the  horse-sheds. 
Margaret,  having  orders  not  to  go  home,  till  her  father 
returned  at  night,  sat  with  Bull  on  the  grass  near  the 
Meeting-house  by  the  side  of  some  other  boys  and  girls, 
who  all  moved  away  when  she  approached.  Tony's  beat 
of  the  troop  was  the  signal  for  the  soldiers  to  assemble 
They  were  first  marched  to  the  front  of  the  church,  when 
prayer,  as  usual,  was  offered  by  Parson  Welles,  standing 
on  the  steps.  "  0  Lord  God,"  thus  he  prayed,  "  we  thank 
thee  that  thou  hast  raised  up  a  defence  to  Israel,  whereby 
thou  hast  cut  off  the  mighty  men  of  valor,  and  the  leaders 
and  captains  in  the  camp  of  the  king  of  Assyria.  We 
humbly  beseech  that  thou  wouldst  send  prosperity,  that 
thou  wouldst  be  an  enemy  to  our  enemies,  and  destroy  all 
them  that  afflict  our  soul.  Let  the  gates  be  lifted  up,  and 
the  Lord,  the  Lord  strong  and  mighty,  the  Lord  mighty  in 


124  MARGARET. 

battle,  come  in.  And  now,  0  God,  we  fall  down  upon  our 
knees  before  thee,  for  and  in  behalf  of  thy  cause,  name, 
people  and  interest,  that  in  this  day  are  so  deeply  designed 
against  by  the  serpent  and  his  seed,  and  from  this  black 
cloud  of  tumult  and  confusion  among  the  nations,  wilt  thou 
bring  forth  the  accomplishment  of  those  promises  thy  people 
are  so  earnestly  looking  after  and  waiting  for  ?  " 

The  old  man  was  fervid  and  earnest.  His  massive  white 
wig  fluttered  in  the  wind,  his  venerable  form  bent  over  his 
ivory-headed  cane.  Some  of  the  people  were  moved  to 
tears. 

The  soldiers  were  then  drawn  into  a  line  for  inspection. 
Their  equipment  presented  hardly  so  uniform  and  symmetri- 
cal an  aspect  as  appears  in  the  militia  of  our  day.  There 
had  been  however  a  gradual  improvement  from  the  primi- 
tive array  of  Colonial  times  ;  when  the  troops  "were  made 
up  of  pikeraen,  bowmen,  and  musketeers  with  match-locks. 
Miles  Standish  was  dressed  in  a  coat  of  mail,  on  his  left 
arm  he  bore  a  target,  in  his  right  a  rapier  or  broadsword, 
iron  gloves  shielded  his  hands,  an  iron  helmet  with  a  visor 
covered  his  head  and  face,  his  breast  was  plated  with  iron. 
In  this  Livingston  Company  many  wore  three-cornered 
hats,  shad-bellied  coats,  shoe  and  knee  buckles.  Some 
retained  the  identical  dress  of  the  late  war.  The  children 
who  may  read  this  memoir,  and  we  hope  there  are  many 
such,  do  not  fancy  that  the  Revolution  was  fought  in  cocked- 
hats  and  small-clothes ! 

Among  the  spectators,  seated  on  the  grass  under  the  eaves 
of  the  Meeting-house,  were  several,  whose  wounds  and 
infirmities  contracted  during  the  war,  rendered  them 
muster-free.  There  were  six  or  eight  of  this  description  ; 
one  had  lost  a  leg,  another  an  arm,  one  had  survived  a  shot; 
through  the  groin,  one  had  pined  away  on  insults,  blows, 


TRAINING   DAY.  125 

hunger  and  cold  in  the  Jersey  prison-ships,  and  bringing 
home  his  stark  skeleton,  became  a  town  pauper.  Another 
one,  whose  name  was  Alexis  Robinson,  having  the  side  of 
his  face  shot  away,  and  with  one  eye  and  ear  losing  a 
moiety  of  his  senses,  and  failing  besides  in  his  earnings,  the 
certificates  of  which  he  always  carried,  by  the  depreciation 
of  the  currency,  was  also  provided  for  by  the  town.  These 
severally  had  hobbled  out  to  see  the  training. 

To  these  must  be  added  certain  soldiers  of  an  earlier 
date.  Prominent  among  whom  was  lame  Deacon  Ramsdill, 
leaning  with  his  left  hand  on  a  smooth  crooked  mountain- 
laurel  cane,  and  having  his  right  folded  over  his  narrow 
wrinkled  face,  perpetually  endeavoring  to  suppress  a  good- 
natured  but  somewhat  undiaconal  smile,  a  risible  labitur  et 
labetur,  that  spirted  out  like  water  between  his  fingers,  and 
ran  through  the  channels  of  his  cheeks,  all  around  his  eyes, 
and  even  back  to  his  ears.  At  the  age  of  sixteen,  in  1755 
he  was  engaged  in  what  is  known  as  the  expulsion  of  the 
Acadians,  or  French  neutrals,  from  Nova  Scotia  ;  in  1757 
he  was  at  the  surrender  of  Fort  William  Henry  ;  1759 
found  him  with  Gen.  Wolfe  at  the  battle  on  the  Plains  of 
Abraham,  where  he  received  a  wound  in  his  leg.  There 
was  also  his  brother  Deacon,  Hadlock,  of  a  more  Pythago- 
rean temper,  who  was  engaged  in  the  Spanish  war,  and 
served  under  General  Wentworth  in  the  attack  on  Cartha- 
gena,  1740,  and  afterwards  was  in"  the  defeat  of  General 
Braddock,  1755. 

Nor  would  one  forget  to  notice  the  children  on  this  occa- 
sion, whose  chief  business  consisted  in  buying  ginger-bread, 
pitching  coppers,  watching  the  drill  and  following  the  steps 
of  the  soldiers  ;  or  fail  to  be  reminded  of  a  difference  in 
their  habits  between  this  and  "good  Old  Colony  times," 
when  the  Legislature  conceiving  lt  that  the  training  up  of 
11* 


126  MARGARET. 

youth  to  the  art  and  practice  of  arms  will  be  of  great  use ; 
do  therefore  order  that  all  youths  within  this  jurisdiction, 
from  ten  years  old  to  the  age  of  sixteen  years,  shall  be  in- 
structed by  some  one  of  the  officers  of  the  band,  upon  the 
usual  training  days,  in  the  exercise  of  arms,  as  small  guns, 
half  pikes,  bows  and  arrows." 

Captain  Hoag  was  an  accomplished  disciplinarian,  es- 
teemed such  at  least  by  his  contemporaries.  His  hair  was 
powdered,  his  coat  faced  with  blue,  on  his  hat  glistened  a 
large  white  cockade,  his  waist  was  ornamented  with  a  scar- 
let sash,  his  shoulder  rounded  off  with  a  silver  epaulette, 
and  silver  lacings  graced  his  yellow  buck-skin  breeches. 
But  what  more  peculiarly  distinguished  him  was  the  badge 
of  the  order  of  the  Cincinnati,  a  gold  medal  with  the  spread 
eagle,  and  blue  ribbon  hanging  from  his  coat  buttons. 
"Attention!  At  this  word,"  said  he,  giving  instructions 
designed  for  the  younger  members  of  the  company,  "you 
must  be  silent,  moving  neither  hand  nor  foot.  To  the  left, 
dress !  You  will  turn  your  heads  briskly  to  the  left,  so  as 
to  bring  yo'ir  right  eye  in  the  direction  of  your  waistcoat 
buttons.  At  the  word  Fire  !  "  continued  he,  "  you  will  pull 
the  trigger  briskly,  then  return  to  the  priming  position,  the 
muzzle  of  your  firelock  directly  in  front,  the  left  hand  just 
forward  of  the  feather-spring,  seize  the  cock  with  the 
thumb  and  forefinger  of  the  right  hand."  After  the  in- 
spection and  manual  drill,  the  soldiers  were  marched  and 
countermarched  across  the  Green. 

There  came  also  to  the  training  Master  Elliman,  who, 
exempt  by  his  profession  from  arms,  and  rated  always  as  a 
Tory,  nevertheless  made  it  a  point  to  appear  at  these  times, 
as  it  would  seem  to  air  his  antipathies.  If  he  encountered 
Pluck,  well ;  but  this  morning  he  saw  one  whom  he  liked 
better,  Margaret,  sitting  with  her  dog. 


TRAINING    DAY.  127 

11  How  do  you  enjoy  it  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Very  well,"  was  the  reply.     "  I  love  to  see  them." 

'•  Sasvit  toto  Mars  impius  orbe." 

"  I  do  not  understand  that." 

"  I  know  you  do  not.     You  will  by  and  by." 

"  Chilion  plays  so  on  his  fife,  and  Tony  drums  so  well, — 
it  is  almost  as  good  as  dancing ;  only  the  girls  and  women 
don't  go  with  them.  See  how  they  follow  Chilion  round 
just  like  the  dancers  !  Why  don't  they  dance  ?  How  slow 
they  step !  " 

"  It  is  not  Chilion  they  follow,"  replied  the  Master,  "  it 
is  that  little  laced  android  with  a  long  knife  in  his  hand, 
and  a  lackered  bunch  on  his  shoulder.  But  here  are  Dea- 
cons Ramsdilland  Hadlock,  &*iol  n(>e.a6vTe^ot  ixxlyatas  tov 
•freov  xttlAlvifyaibv  and  our  broad-brimmed  nay  nay  and  yea 
yea  android,  Anthony  Wharfield  Salvete,  Deacons;  God 
bless  thee,  Friend  Anthony.  Miss  Margaret  Hart,  Friend 
Anthony." 

"  How  does  thee  ;  sister  Margaret  ?  "  said  the  latter. 

"  A  Pond  gal ! "  poh'd  Deacon  Hadlock. 

"  What  on  arth  is  the  Master  doing  with  that  little  crit- 
ter?" laughed  Deacon  Ramsdill.  "  Larnin'  the  young 
pup  new  tricks  ?  " 

"  The  dog  that  trots  about  will  find  a  bone,"  quoth  Deacon 
Hadlock. 

"  Qui  vult  csedere  canem,  facile  invenit  fustem,"  respond- 
ed the  Master. 

Bull,  whether  that  his  name  was  used  too  freely,  or  from 
an  old  habit  in  the  presence  of  strangers,  began  to  growl. 

"  Lie  still,"  said  Margaret. 

"There,  you  see  the  Scripture  fulfilled.  Soft  words 
turn  away  wrath,"  remarked  Deacon  Ramsdill,  with  his 
right  hand  on  his  mouth  striving  in  vain  to  curb  his  laughter. 


128  MARGARET. 

"  So  Friend  Anthony  gets  rid  of  the  wars,  and  train- 
ings, by  his  soft  answers,  I  suppose,"  said  the  Master. 

"  Not  of  paying  the  fines,"  responded  the  Quaker. 
"  Ruth  and  I  were  stripped  of  most  we  had,  to  support  the 
troops." 

"  See  how  God  has  blessed  you  !  What  an  army  he  is 
raising  for  our  defence,"  exclaimed  Deacon  Hadlock,  point- 
ing to  the  soldiers. 

"  What  is  that  little  man,  with  a  long  knife,  doing  to  the 
men  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  He  is  preparing  them  for  war  ;  he  will  prove  a  Joshua 
to  us,"  said  Deacon  Hadlock,  not  so  much  however  in  reply 
to  Margaret,  as  to  illustrate  sentiments  which  he  feared  did 
not  sufficiently  prevail  with  his  friends. 

"  I  ruther  guess  he's  larnin'  them  bagonets  and  hatchets 
to  make  pretty  free  work  with  our  legs,"  said  Deacon 
Ramsdill,  pressing  down  upon  his  cane. 

"  He  is  teaching  the  science  of  puppetry,"  said  the 
Master. 

"  He  is  teaching  them  to  break  the  commandments  of 
Christ,"  said  the  Quaker. 

"  What  is  it  for  ?  what  for !  "  exclaimed  Margaret,  start- 
ing up  with  some  surprise. 

"  I  can  tell  you  all,"  said  Deacon  Hadlock.  "  It  is,  under 
God,  the  defence  of  our  lives,  liberties  and  fortunes." 

"  How  many  of  our  people  were  killed  in  the  French 
war,  and  in  the  last  war,"  said  Deacon  Ramsdill. 

"  How  many  of  us  were  shut  in  the  Jail  yonder,"  said 
the  Master. 

"  How  many  farms  in  this  town  were  ruined,"  said  the 
Quaker. 

"  What  blunders  are  ye  all  making,"  answered  Deacon 
Hadlock.  "  It  is  our  enemies  that  we  expect  to  kill." 


TRAINING    DAY.  129 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  Our  enemies,  I  say." 

"  Who  are  our  enemies  ?  " 

"  Those  that  injure  us." 

"  What,  kill  them  !  "  said  Margaret.  "  Now  I  wish 
Chilion  would  bring  his  violin  and  make  them  dance.  They 
wouldn't  kill  one  another  then.  Why  don't  he  play  Chorus 
Jig,  and  set  them  a  dancing." 

"  Clear  nater,"  said  Deacon  Ramsdill ;  "  I  make  no 
doubt  the  gal  feels  just  so." 

"  O,  Brother  Rainsdill,"  sighed  Deacon  Hadlock,  "  how 
can  you !  What  are  we  coming  to !  I  was  informed 
you  countenanced  mixed  dancing  ;  that  you  told  Bethia 
Weeks,  a  church  member,  there  was  no  harm  in  it  if  she 
didn't  carry  it  too  far.  Here  you  are  encouraging  that  sin- 
ful amusement  and  opposing  our  military  preparations  !  I 
do  believe  the  Lord  has  forsaken  us  indeed." 

"  Behold  your  defenders,  pro  aris  et  focis,"  sneered 
the  Master,  directing  attention  to  the  soldiers.  A  difficulty 
had  arisen.  The  Captain  was  seen  running  towards  the 
rear  of  the  company. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Hash,  the  brother  of  Marga- 
ret, had  a  difference  with  Zenaa  Joy,  a  Breakneck  at  the 
Turkey  Shoot.  We  would  also  state  that  Zenas  was  en- 
gaged to  Delinda  Hoag,  a  daughter  of  the  Captain.  On 
the  parade  this  morning,  Hash's  conduct  had  been  very 
unmannerly  towards  Zenas,  so  much  so  as  to  offend  Cap- 
tain Hoag,  both  officially  and  personally  ;  and  he  changed 
Hash's  place,  transferring  him  to  a  platoon  under  command 
of  Corporal  Joseph  Whiston,  also  a  Breakneck.  Hash  could 
not  brook  this,  and  carried  his  resentment  to  the  extent  of 
striking  his  superior  on  the  march  ;  an  offence  that  Joseph 
sought  to  punish  by  a  blow  in  return.  Obed,  also,  who  was 


130  MARGARET. 

this  day  doing  his  first  military  duty,  became  somehow 
involved  in  the  affray.  The  music  ceased ;  order  was  lost. 
Several  voices  called  for  Deacon  Iladlock  to  interfere  in 
his  capacity  as  Justice  of  the  Peace.  The  soldiers  speedily 
resolved  themselves  into  a  civil  tribunal,  and  Hash  and 
Obed  were  equitably  tried  and  sentenced,  the  former  to 
twenty-four  hours'  imprisonment  in  the  Jail,  and  a  fine  of 
twenty  shillings;  the  latter  to  twenty-nine  lashes  at  the 
whipping-post. 

The  culprits  were  immediately  taken  to  their  respective 
dooms,  followed  by  the  populace.  Margaret,  not  compre- 
hending precisely  the  nature  of  events,  lingered  on  the 
steps  of  the  crowd.  The  screams  of  Obed  aroused  her, 
and  she  dashed  through  the  press  of  people,  as  she  would 
through  a  field  of  bushes,  to  the  point  whence  they  pro- 
ceeded. A  half  dozen  blows  of  the  formidable  cat  had 
sufficed  to  fetch  blood  on  the  naked  back  of  the  youth. 
Margaret  flew  toward  her  suffering  friend  and  folded  her 
arms  about  him,  as  it  were,  in  the  way  at  once  of  pity  and 
protection.  The  constable  tried  to  wrench  her  off;  she  clung 
with  an  almost  preternatural  grasp.  lie  threatened  to  lay 
the  lash  upon  her.  She  told  him  he  should  not  whip  Obed. 
Judah  Weeks,  brother  of  Isabel,  set  up  a  cry  "  For  shame !  " 
Isabel  herself,  who  was  playing  near  by,  began  to  utter  a 
loud  lament,  all  the  children  raised  piteous  moans,  the  older 
people  became  confused  ;  in  fine,  Deacon  Iladlock  himself, 
hearing  Obed's  entreaties,  consented  to  remit  the  balance 
of  the  penalty.  Margaret  walked  through  the  people,  who 
drew  off  on  either  side,  her  face  and  clothes  dabbled  with 
blood.  She  went  with  Isabel  to  the  brook  and  washed ; 
Isabel  going  into  her  house,  which  was  near  by,  brought  a 
towel  to  wipe  her,  and  asked  her  to  walk  in  and  see  her 
mother.  Margaret  said  she  must  go  back  to  her  brother 
Hash. 


TRAINING   DAY.  131 

The  Jail  yard,  constructed  of  high  posts,  was  close  upon 
the  street,  and  when  Margaret  returned  she  found  boys  and 
girls  looking  through  the  crevices  ;  an  example  that  she 
imitated.  Deacon  Ramsdill  approaching,  asked  her  if  she 
wanted  to  go  in  ;  she  replied  that  she  did.  After  considera- 
ble parleying,  the  Deacon  was  able  to  obtain  of  the  Jailer, 
Mr.  Shocks,  permission  for  her  to  enter,  with  Bull,  whom 
it  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  keep  out.  She  found  Hash  in 
a  small,  dimly  lighted  cell,  rolling  and  blubbering  on  the 
floor.  She  aroused  him,  and  he  took  her  in  one  arm,  and 
held  the  head  of  the  dog  by  the  other,  and  seemed  very  much 
pleased  to  have  them  with  him.  She  said  she  would  stay  all 
night,  but  he  told  her  that  would  not  be  allowed.  She  saw 
another  man  in  the  cell,  who,  Hash  whispered  to  her,  was. 
a  murderer.  This  person  sat  in  silence,  muffled  like  an  ovW, 
in  his  black  beard,  tangled  hair,  begrimed  face,  and  ragged 
clothes.  She  went  to  him,  he  took  her  in  his  lap,  pressed 
her  hard  to  his  breast,  and  stroked  her  hair.  She  called 
Bull,  and  he  patted  the  dog's  head.  He  said  he  had  a  little 
boy  about  as  old  as  she  was,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  a  long 
time,  and  never  expected  to  see  again.  She  gave  him  some 
gingerbread  which  she  had  in  her  pocket,  and  he  munched 
it  greedily.  Hash  offered  him  a  quid  of  tobacco,  whereat 
he  seemed  greatly  delighted,  and  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 
Margaret  said  she  would  fetch  him  flowers  the  next  time 
she  came  to  the  village.  He  thanked  her  and  said  he  should 
be  glad  to  see  them,  that  he  had  not  seen  a  flower  for  two 
years.  The  Jailor  presently  entered,  and  ordered  Mar- 
garet to  leave.  She  went  to  the  Horse-sheds,  where  her 
father  was  selling  liquors.  Seating  her  on  a  cider  barrel, 
he  gave  her  more  gingerbread  and  cheese,  which  she  ate 
with  a  relish. 

The  day  approached  its  close,  and  the  soldiers  drew  up 
to  ballot  for  officers,  Captain  Hoag's  term  of  service  having 


132  MARGARET. 

expired.  In  the  result,  Lieutenant  Eliashib  Tuck  was 
chosen  Captain,  and  all  the  subaltern  officers  advanced 
their  respective  grades,  excepting  CorporalJoseph  Whiston, 
whose  name,  for  some  reason, disappeared  from  the  canvass. 
Captain  Tuck  replied  as  follows :  "  Fellow-soldiers,  I  lack 
words  to  express  my  sense  of  the  honor  conferred  upon 
me,  as  unexpected  as  it  is  undeserved.  We  live  in  a  glo- 
rious era,  one  that  eclipses  all  past  time,  and  will  be  a  model 
for  future  ages.  The  close  of  the  eighteenth  century  is  as 
sublime  as  its  meridian  was  grand.  It  were  an  honor  for 
a  man  to  be  born  in  this  period,  how  much  more  so  to  be 
honored  by  it !  My  brave  compatriots !  military  life  is  the 
path  to  distinction,  and  the  means  of  usefulness.  An  im- 
mortal crown  awaits  the  head  of  the  hero  !  The  Lion  of 
Britain  we  have  bound,  and  the  Unicorn  of  France  shall 
ere  long  bite  the  dust !  Livingstonians !  my  blood  is 
aroused,  my  ambition  fired  to  be  at  the  head  of  such  a 
corps  !  Your  fame  has  spread  from  Bunker  Hill  to  Sara- 
toga, from  Genessee  to  King's  Mountain.  I  will  lead 
wherever  you  will  follow,  1  will  dare  all  dangers  with  your 
support." 

Agreeably  to  custom,  he  then  announced  a  treat.  The 
company  was  marched  to  the  Crown  and  Bowl,  and  dis- 
missed. The  citizens,  old  and  young,  thronged  to  the  scene. 
Pluck,  leaving  Margaret  and  his  tapstership,  joined  in  the 
general  exhilaration.  Pails  of  toddy  were  brought  from 
the  bar-room.  The  men  drank  freely,  gave  huzzas,  and 
sang  patriotic  songs.  Ex-Corporal  Whiston,  however,  and 
his  particular  friends,  dignifiedly  indignant,  withdrew,  and 
went  to  the  store  for  their  entertainment.  The  old  men 
drank,  and  the  young  men  ;  boys  crept  under  the  legs  of 
the  soldiers,  and  lifting  the  pails,  tugged  at  the  slops. 

The  sun  went  down,  clouds  gloomed  in  the  sky,  and 


TKAINING   DAY.  133 

heavy  vapors  drifted  over  the  town.  Solomon  Smith,  son 
of  the  Tavern-keeper  from  No.  4,  erected  pine  torches  in 
his  booth.  Lights  burst  forth  from  wheelbarrows  and 
carts  throughout  the  Green.  But  an  excessive  use  of  alco- 
holic stimulants  aggravates  the  ordinary  symptoms  of  good 
cheer,  and  produces  effects  which  the  most  considerate  do 
not  always  foresee.  Intoxication  supervenes,  accompanied 
by  a  paralysis  of  the  physical,  or  an  inflammation  of  the 
nervous,  system.  Captain  Tuck  was  borne  dead  drunk  by 
his  reeling  troops  to  the  Tavern.  Ex-Corporal  Whiston 
with  his  friends  sallied  from  the  store  well  sprung,  and 
encountering  their  enemies  at  all  points,  a  medley  of  brawls 
ensued.  The  Horse-shed  becoming  scenes  of  varied  disor- 
der, Margaret  was  compelled  to  retreat. 

It  had  begun  to  rain,  the  clouds  emptying  themselves  in 
bulk  as  it  might  seem  to  animate  and  refreshen  the  people, 
but  really  to  superadd  a  burthen  on  such  as  already  had 
more  than  they  could  carry,  and  bury  those  who  were  fallen 
deeper  in  the  soil.  Margaret  hurried  she  knew  not  where  ; 
Solomon  Smith,  leaving  his  own  now  deserted  and  useless 
Stand,  discovering  her  standing  in  the  rain,  kindly  took  her 
with  him  into  the  house  to  the  kitchen ;  where  was  a  parcel 
of  persons,  including  boys  and  girls,  some  drying  them- 
selves by  the  fire,  some  waiting  for  the  rain  to  hold  up, 
others  singing,  laughing  and  drinking.  Here  also  was 
Tony  with  his  fiddle  playing  to  a  company  of  dancers  ; 
and  Pluck,  sitting  on  the  hearth,  with  his  full-orbed  cabbage- 
head,  swaying  to  and  fro,  beating  time  with  his  arms  and 
legs,  and  balancing  in  one  hand  a  mug  of  flip.  "  Ha  !  my 
little  lady  ! "  said  he,  catching  Margaret  with  a  bounce  into 
his  lap,  and  holding  her  near  the  fire,  "  won't  you  drink  a 
little,  now  do  drink  a  little.  See  how  it  creams  ;  don't  be 
snuffy,  Molly,  none  of  your  mulligrubs.  Here's  blood  now, 

VOL.   i.  12 


134  MARGARET. 

Obed's  blood,  on  your  pinafore.  A  brave  deed  that ;  you 
must  take  something.  It's  training  day,  and  that  don't 
come  only  four  times  a  year.  There's  Beulah  Ann,  she 
loves  it  as  well  as  a  calf  likes  to  be  licked.  Sweet  pinkey- 
posy,  it  is  as  good  for  your  wet  clothes,  as  the  Widder's 
horse-raddish  for  dropsy.  Ha !  ha !  " 

As  he  proffered  the  mug  to  Margaret's  lips,  Tony,  reach- 
ing over  with  his  fiddle-bow,  struck  it  from  his  hand  into 
the  fire.  The  blue  blaze  whirred  up  the  chimney  and 
flashed  into  the  room.  There  was  a  cry  of  fire,  and  Mr. 
Still  water,  summoning  himself,  lifted  Pluck  to  his  feet, 
and  shoved  him  into  the  street.  The  old  toper  anticipat- 
ing some  such  issue  of  the  day,  agreeably  to  custom,  had 
taken  Margaret  with  him  to  the  village  to  be  conducted 
home  .by  her  at  night. 

They  ascended  the  West  Street,  crossed  the  pasture,  and 
entered  the  woods.  The  clouds  hung  low,  and  their  floating 
skirts  seemed  to  be  pierced  and  hetcheled  by  the  trees. 
The  rain  had  thinned  into  a  fine  close  mist.  The  path,  to 
inexperienced  eyes,  would  have  been  absolutely  indistin- 
guishable. They  had  threaded  it  before  in  similar  darkness. 
They  came  to  the  Brook,  which,  increased  by  the  rain, 
flowed  with  a  dismal  sound  ;  they  groped  along  its  banks, 
and  arrived  at  the  Tree  Bridge.  Pluck  seemed  terrified, 
and  hesitated  to  cross.  He  sat  down,  then  extended  his 
length  on  the  grass,  and  ere  long  fell  asleep.  Margaret 
would  have  been  unwilling  that  her  father  should  go  over, 
and  was  not  sorry  to  have  him  stop  ;  though  it  was  night, 
and  rainy,  and  they  were  alone,  and  still  a  mile  from  home. 
The  trees  dripped  on  her  head,  the  grass  was  wet  underneath 
her,  and  her  clothes  were  drenched.  But  of  this  she 
hardly  thought ;  what  she  more  feared  was  the  ways  of 
her  father  in  his  drunken  sleep,  his  mysterious  suffer- 
ings, his  frenzied  utterance,  and  spasmodic  agitation. — 


TRAINING   DAY.  135 

This,  and  for  this  she  feared ;  she  looked  for  it,  and  it  came. 
She  tried  to  quiet  him,  and  as  she  rubbed  his  arm  he  said 
she  was  a  dove  feeding  him  with  milk ;  and  then  he 
scratched  and  tore  at  his  breast,  which  she  soothed  with 
her  hand,  hot  and  rough  as  it  was  ;  then  he  said  he  was 
boiling  in  the  still,  and  Solomon  Smith  was  holding  the  cap 
on  ;  he  shrieked  and  yelled  till  his  roar  exceeded  that  of  the 
Brook.  Then  he  began  to  laugh  wildly.  "  Old  Nick  is 
turning  the  North  Pole.  There  comes  out  of  the  sea  a 
whale  walking  on  his  tail  ;  Parson  Welles  has  got  astride 
of  his  gills  with  a  riding  stick,  ha  !  ha  !  Ho  !  a  star  rolling 
on  its  five  points  !  Grind  away,  old  fellow.  Round,  round 
they  go  over  the  mountains,  splash,  splash  across  rivers. 
Can't  you  hear  the  pismires  laugh !  There's  St.  Paul  with 
a  cat-o'-nine-tails,  and  Deacon  Hadlock  going  to  take  me  to 
the  whipping-post.  I'll  be  poxed,  if  you  do.  Ho  !  Molly, 
Molly,  help !  "  He  leaped  from  the  ground,  Margaret  clung 
to  the  skirt  of  his  coat.  Breaking  from  the  arm  that 
detained  him,  he  cried,  "  The  Tree  Bridge,"  and  ran 
towards  that  slippery  structure,  as  if  he  could  thereby 
escape  his  invisible  pursuers. 

Ere  the  child  had  time  to  exclaim  against  this  rashness, 
or  interpose  any  obstacle  to  the  peril  upon  which  the  old 
man  rushed,  a  plash  in  the  water  announced  his  fall,  while 
the  darkness  and  the  swollen  state  of  the  stream  appalled 
her  with  the  feeling  of  his  certain  destruction.  Then 
Margaret,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  experienced,  what  is 
often  overwhelming  in  the  onset  and  is  not  wont  to  sit 
lightly  on  the  memory,  a  sense  of  danger. — What  could 
be  done  ?  She  hurried  down  the  ravine,  was  enabled  to 
seize  an  arm  of  the  struggling  man,  and  assist  him  to  regain 
the  bank.  In  silence,  sickness  and  weariness,  she  toiled 
homewards  ;  in  darkest  dead  of  night  she  went  to  her  bed, 
when  that  good  angel,  sleep,  came  and  comforted  her. 


136  THE    SAUUATII. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   SABBATH. — MARGARET  GOES   TO  MEETING    FOR   THE    FIRST 
TIME. — HER   DREAM    OF     JESUS. 

IT  was  a  Sabbath  morning,  a  June  Sabbath  morning,  a 
June  Sabbath  morning  in  New  England.  The  sun  rose 
over  a  hushed,  calm  world,  wrapt  like  a  Madonna  in  prayer. 
It  was  The  Day,  as  the  Bible  is  The  Book.  It  was  an 
intersection  of  the  natural  course  of  time,  a  break  in  the 
customary  order  of  events,  and  lay  between,  with  its  walls 
of  Saturday  and  Sunday  night  on  either  side,  like  a  chasm 
or  a  dyke,  or  a  mystical  apartment,  whatever  you  would 
please  liken  it  to.  It  was  such  a  Sabbath  to  the  people  of 
Livingston  as  they  used  to  have  before  steam,  that  arch 
Antinomian,  "annihilated  time  and  space,"  and  railroads 
bridged  over  all  our  valleys.  Its  light,  its  air,  its  warmth, 
its  sound,  its  sun,  the  shimmer  of  its  dawn  on  the  brass 
cock  of  the  steeple,  the  look  of  the  Meeting-house  itself,  all 
things,  were  not  as  on  other  days.  And  now  when  those 
old  Sabbaths  are  almost  gone,  some  latent  indefinable 
impression  of  what  they  were  comes  over  us,  and  wrenches 
us  into  awe,  stillness  and  regret. 

Margaret  had  never  been  to  Meeting  ;  the  family  did  not 
go.  If  there  were  no  other  indisposing  causes,  Pluck 
himself  expressly  forbade  the  practice,  and  trained  his 
children  to  very  different  habits  and  feelings.  They  did  not 
work  on  the  Sabbath,  but  idled  and  drank.  Margaret  had 
no  quilling,  or  carding,  or  going  after  rum  to  do  ;  she  was 
wont  to  sally  into  the  woods,  clamber  up  the  Head  and  tend 
her  flowers  ;  or  Chilion  played  and  she  sang,  he  whittled 


MARGARET.  137 

trellises  for  her  vines,  mended  her  cages,  sailed  with  her 
on  the  Pond.  She  heard  the  bell  ring  in  the  morning,  she 
saw  Obed  and  his  mother  go  by  to  meetingl  and  she  had 
sometimes  wished  to  go  too,  but  her  father  would 
never  consent;  so  that  the  Sabbath,  although  not  more 
than  two  miles  off,  was  no  more  to  her  than  is  one  half  the 
world  to  the  other  half. 

From  the  private  record  of  Deacon  Hadlock  we  take  the 
following : — 

State  vs.  Didymus  Hart. 

"  Stafford,  ss.  Be  it  remembered,  that  on  the  nineteenth 
day  of  August,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  seventy- 
eight,  Didymus  Hart  of  Livingston,  in  the  County  of  Staf- 
ford, shoemaker  and  laborer,  is  brought  before  me,  Nathan 
Hadlock,  Esq.,  a  Justice  of  Peace  for  and  within  the  afore- 
said county,  by  Hopestill  Cutts,  Constable  of  Livingston 
aforesaid,  by  warrant  issued  by  me,  the  said  Justice,  on  the 
day  aforesaid,  against  the  said  Didymus  Hart,  at  Livingston 
aforesaid,  on  the  twelfth  day  of  May  last,  being  the  Lord's 
day,  did  walk,  recreate  and  disport  himself  on  the  south 
side  of  the  Pond  lying  in  the  West  District,  so  called,  of 
Livingston  aforesaid  ;  which  is  contrary  to  the  law  of  this 
State  made  and  provided  in  such  cases,  and  against  the 
peace  of  this  State,  all  which  is  to  the  evil  example  of  all 
others  in  like  case  offending. 

"Wherefore,"  witnesses  being  heard,  &c.,  "  it  doth  appear 
to  me,  the  said  Justice,  that  the  said  Didymus  Hart  sit  in  the 
stocks  for  two  hours." 

Pluck  was  disposed  of  in  the  manner  prescribed,  very 
much  to  the  entertainment  of  the  boys,  who  spattered  him 
with  eggs,  the  disturbance  and  exasperation  of  his  wife,  who 
preferred  that  all  inflictions  her  husband  received  should 
come  from  herself,  and  quite  resented  the  interference  of 
12* 


138  THE    SABBATH. 

others,  and  his  own  chagrin  and  vexation  ;  especially  as  the 
informer  in  the  case  was  Otis  Joy,  father  of  Zenas,  a  break- 
neck, whose  friendship  he  did  not  value,  and  Cutts,  the 
executive  officer,  was  the  village  shoemaker,  and  no  agreea- 
ble rival,  and  the  Justice  was  Deacon  Hadlock.  By  way 
of  redress,  he  chose  to  keep  from  meeting  entirely,  and  suf- 
fer none  under  his  control  to  go. 

But  Chilion  and  Nimrod  both  urged  that  Margaret  might 
attend  church  at  least  once  in  her  life,  and  her  father  at 
length  consented.  This  morning  she  heard  the  bell  ring  ; 
she  saw  Obed  and  his  mother  en  a  pillion  behind  him  riding 
by  ;  the  latter  dressed  in  a  small  shining  black  satin  bonnet, 
and  gown  of  similar  material,  with  a  white  inside  handker- 
chief ;  the  former  in  sky-blue  coat  and  ruffled  sleeves,  white 
neck -stock,  white  worsted  vest,  yellow  buckskin  breeches, 
wh'te  stockings,  and  silver-plated  buckles,  which  had  all  be- 
longed to  his  father,  whose  form  was  both  shorter  and 
thicker  than  his  son's,  and  whose  garments  it  certainly 
showed  great  filial  reverence  in  the  young  man  to  wear 
without  essential  alteration.  Obed  had  an  old  look,  his  face 
Avas  furrowed  as  well  as  freckled,  and  his  mother  to  remedy 
this  disproportion  and  graduate  her  son  that  consideration 
which  naturally  attached  to  his  appearance,  had  adopted  the 
practice  of  powdering  his  hair  and  gathering  it  in  a  sack 
behind  ;  and  for  his  near  sightedness,  she  provided  him  wilh 
a  pair  of  broad  horn-bowed  bridge  spectacles.  The  entire 
structure  was  capped  by  a  large  three-cornered  hat.  What- 
ever might  have  been  the  effect  of  Obed's  recent  whipping, 
there  was  nothing  apparent.  His  mother,  unlike  Pluck, 
would  not  suffer  any  thing  of  that  kind  to  disturb  the  good 
understanding  she  ever  wished  to  retain  with  the  people  of 
Livingston. 

But   let  us,   if  the   reader   is   willing,   anticipate  these 


MARGARET.  139 

persons  a  little,  and  descend  to  the  Village.  The  people  are 
assembling  for  Meeting ;  they  come  on  all  the  four  roads, 
and  by  numerous  foot-paths,  cross-lots,  and  through  the 
woods.  Many  are  on  horses,  more  on  foot,  and  a  very  few 
in  wagons.  The  horses'  heads  are  garnished  with  branches 
of  spruce  and  birch,  a  defence  against  flies ;  most  of  the 
boys  and  some  of  the  men  are  barefoot,  divers  of  them  in 
their  shirt-sleeves,  carrying  their  coats  on  their  arms  ;  some 
of  the  young  ladies  have  sprigs  of  roses,  pinks,  sweet-wil- 
liams, and  larkspurs ;  others  both  old  and  young  bring 
bunches  of  caraway,  peppermint,  and  southern  wood  ; 
some  of  the  ladies  who  ride  leap  from  their  horses  with  the 
agility  of  cats,  others  make  use  of  horse  blocks  that  stand 
about  the  Green.  You  would  perhaps  particularly  notice 
old  Mr.  Ravel  and  his  wife  from  the  North  Part  of  the 
town,  on  horseback,  the  former  straight  as  an  arrow,  the 
latter  a  little  crooked,  and  both  more  than  eighty  years  of 
age.  For  sixty  years  they  have  come  in  that  way,  a  dis- 
tance of  seven  miles ;  for  sixty  years,  every  Sabbath  morn- 
ing, have  they  heated  their  oven  and  put  in  an  iron  pot  of 
beans  and  an  earthen  dish  of  Indian  pudding,  to  bake  in 
their  absence,  and  be  ready  for  dinner  when  they  return. 
To  meet  exigencies  of  this  nature,  in  the  mean  time,  you  will 
observe  that  Mistress  Ravel,  in  common  with  many  other 
women,  has  on  her  arm  a  large  reddish  calico  bag  filled 
with  nut-cakes  and  cheese.  You  will  also  see  coming  down 
the  West  Street  Mr.  Adolphus  Hadlock,  nephew  of  the 
Deacon's,  with  his  wife  and  six  children,  and  Mr.  Adolphus 
will  contrive  in  some  way  or  other  to  give  you  the  names 
of  all  his  children  without  your  asking,  even  before  he 
reaches  the  steps  of  the  Meeting-house  ;  Triandaphelda 
Ada,  Cecilia  Rebecca,  Purintha  Cappadocia,  Aristophanes, 
Ethelbert,  and  a  little  boy  he  carries  in  his  arms,  Socrates  ; 


140  TIIE  SABBATH. 

and  you  will  hear  the  young  men  and  boys  that  are  lollop- 
ing on  the  steps  repeat  these  names  as  the  parties  to  whom 
they  belong  severally  arrive. 

The  sexton,  Philip  Davis,  now  strikes  the  second  bell,  and 
those  who  live  immediately  on  the  Green  begin  to  turn  out, 
and  when  he  commences  tolling,  it  is  a  sign  Parson  Welles  has 
started  from  his  house,  which  is  in  plain  sight  an  hundred  rods 
or  so  down  the  South  road.  There  are  Mr.  Stillwaler,  the 
tavern-keeper,  Esq.  Weeks,  Judge  Morgridge,  Mr.  Gisborne, 
the  joiner,  Lawyer  Beach,  Dr.  Spoor,  and  other  villagers, 
with  their  families.  Tony,  the  barber,  with  his  powdered 
hair  and  scarlet  coat,  is  conspicuous.  There  is  Mom  Dill,  a 
negro  servant  of  Parson  Wells,  once  a  slave,  fat,  tidy  and 
serene.  The  Widow  Luce,  who  lives  near  the  Brook, 
passes  on  leading  her  little  hunchback  son  Job ;  then  you 
see  the  Parson  and  his  wife  accompanied  by  their  daughter, 
Miss  Amy. 

This  venerable  couple  have  nearly  attained  the  allotted 
age  of  man,  and  are  verging  towards  that  period  which  is 
described  as  one  of  labor  and  sorrow  ;  yet  on  the  whole  they 
seem  to  be  renewing  their  youth,  their  forms  are  but  slight- 
ly bent,  and  the  step  of  the  old  minister  is  firm  and  elastic. 
He  is  dressed  in  black,  the  only  suit  of  the  color  in  town — 
if  we  except  that  of  the  sexton,  which  is  known  to  be  an  off- 
cast of  the  Parson's — kerseymere  coat,  silk  breeches  and 
stockings  ;  he  has  on  a  three-cornered  hat,  a  fleece-like 
wig,  white  bands  and  black  silk  gloves.  His  wife's  dress  is 
black  satin,  like  that  of  the  Widow  Wright's.  Finally,  as  it 
were  composing  part  of  the  sacerdotal  train,  riding  slowly 
and  solemnly  behind,  appears  the  Widow  Wright,  who  al- 
ways contrives  to  arrive  at  the  Parsonage  just  as  the  bell 
begins  to  toll.  The  Parson  and  his  wife  with  dignity  and 
gravity  ascend  the  steps  of  the  church,  the  crowd  meekly 


MARGARET.  141 

opens  to  let  them  pass,  then  all  enter  and  take  their  appro- 
priate seats  within  the  sacred  precincts.  The  bell  ceases 
tolling ;  the  sexton  hangs  the  bell-rope  on  a  high  peg  where 
the  boys  cannot  reach  it,  shuts  the  inner  porch  doors,  goes 
to  the  outer  door  and  hem's  twice  quite  loud  to  the  vacant 
air,  and  all  is  still. 

This  morning,  in  church,  considerable  sensation  was 
created — no  more  indeed  than  usual  on  such  occasions — by 
Deacon  Pemrose,  the  clerk  of  the  town,  reading  the  banns 
of  marriage  between  Zenas  Joy  and  Delinda  Iloag. — 
Leaving  these  people,  let  us  go  back  to  the  Pond. 

Brown  Moll,  with  unpretending  yet  deep  satisfaction  in 
the  good  looks  of  the  child,  carefully  dressed  Margaret's 
hair, — which  in  tendency  to  curl  resembled  that  of  Gottfried 
Briickman,  while  in  color  it  fell  between  the  flaxen  of  her 
German  and  jet  of  her  Gallic  but  all  unknown  lineage, — 
put  on  her  white  muslin  tunic  and  pink  skirt  and  red-bead 
moccasons.  For  hat,  the  little  novice  had  nothing  more 
suitable  than  the  green  rush. 

Margaret  started  away  with  a  dreamy  sense  of  mystery 
attaching  to  the  Meeting,  like  a  snow  storm  by  moonlight, 
and  a  lively  feeling  of  childish  curiosity.  On  the  smooth 
in  front  of  the  house,  her  little  white  and  yellow  chickens 
were  peeping  and  dodging  under  the  low  mallows  with  its 
bluish  rose-colored  flowers,  the  star-tipped  hedge-mustard, 
and  pink-tufted  smart-weed,  and  picking  off  the  blue  and 
green  flies  that  were  sunning  on  the  leaves  ;  and  they  did 
not  seem  to  mind  her.  Hash  had  taken  Bull  into  the 
woods,  and  Chilion  told  her  she  would  not  need  him.  Dick, 
her  squirrel,  and  Robin,  were  disposed  to  follow,  but  her 
mother  called  them  back.  A  little  yellow-poll,  perched  in 
the  Butternut,  whistled  after  her,  "  Whooee  whee  whee 
whee  whittiteetee — as  soon  as  I  get  this  green  cater- 


142  MARGARET    GOES   TO   MEETING. 

pillar,  I  will  go  too."  A  rusty  wren  screamed  out  to  her, 
"  Os'sV  chipper  w'  w'  w'  wow  wow  wow — 0  shame,  Molly, 
I  am  going  to  rob  an  oriole's  nest,  I  would'ntgo  to  Meeting." 
She  entered  the  Mowing  ;  a  bobolink  clung  tillering  to 
the  breezy  tip  of  a  white  birch,  and  said,  "  Pee  wuh'  wuh' 
ch'  tut,  tut,  tee  tee  wuh'  wuh'  wdle  wdle  pee  wee  a  a  wdle 
dee  dee — now  Molly  here  are  red  clover,  yellow  butter- 
cups, white  daisies,  and  strawberries  in  the  grass  ;  ecod! 
how  the  wind  blows  !  what  a  grand  time  we  shall  have,  let 
us  stay  here  to  day."  A  grass-finch  skippered  to  the  top  of 
a  stump,  and  thrusting  up  its  bill,  cried  out,  "  Ghee  chee 
chee  up  chip'  chip'  chipperway  ouble  wee — glad  you  are 
going,  you'll  get  good  to-day,  don't  stop,  the  bell  is  tolling." 
She  thought  of  the  murderer,  snatched  a  large  handful  of 
flowers,  and  hurried  on,  driven  forward  as  it  were  by  a 
breeze  of  gladness  in  her  own  thoughts  and  of  vernal 
aroma  from  the  fields.  She  gathered  the  large  bindweed, 
that  lay  on  its  back  floating  over  the  lot,  like  pond-lilies, 
with  its  red  and  white  cups  turned  to  the  sun  ;  and  also, 
the  beautiful  purple  cran's  bill,  and  blue-eyed  grass.  She 
came  to  the  shadows  of  the  woods  that  skirted  the  Mowing, 
where  she  got  bunch-berries,  and  star-of- Bethlehem's.  She 
entered  a  cool  grassy  recess  in  the  forest,  where  were  beds 
of  purple  twin-flower,  yellow  star-grass,  blue-violets,  and 
mosses  growing  together  family-like,  under  the  stately 
three-leaved  ferns  that  overhung  them  like  elm-trees,  while 
above  were  the  birches  and  walnuts.  A  black-cap  k'  d' 
chanked,  k'  d'  chanked  over  her  head,  and  a  wood-thrush 
whoot  whoot  whooted,  ting  a  ring  tinged  in  earnest  unison, 
"  "We  are  going  to  have  a  meeting  here  to-day,  a  little 
titmouse  is  coming  to  be  christened,  won't  you  stop  ?"  But 
a  woodpecker  rapped  and  rattled  over  among  the  chestnuts, 
and  on  she  went.  She  crossed  the  Tree-Bridge,  and  followed 


MARGARET.  143 

the  brook  that  flowed  with  a  winsome  glee,  and  while  she 
looked  at  the  flies  and  spiders  dancing  on  the  dark  water, 
she  heard  a  little  yellow-throated  fly-catcher,  mournfully 
saying.  "  Preeo,  preea  preeeeo  preeeea — Pray,  Margaret, 
you'll  lose  your  soul  if  you  don't ; "  and  she  saw  a  wood- 
pewee  up  among  the  branches,  with  her  dark  head  bowed 
over  plaintively  singing,  "  P'  p'  ee  ee  ou  wee,  p'  p'  ee  ee 
ou  wee' — Jesus  be  true  to  you  Margaret,  I  have  lost  my 
love,  and  my  heart  is  sad,  a  blue  angel  come  down  from  the 
skies,  and  fold  us  both  in  his  soft  feathers.'7  Here  she  got 
the  white-clustering  baneberry,  and  little  nodding  buff 
cucumber  root. 

The  Via  Dolorosa  became  to  Margaret  to-day  a  via 
juncundissima,  a  very  pleasant  way.  Through  what  some 
would  consider  rough  woods  and  bleak  pasture  land,  in  a 
little  sheep-track,  crooked  and  sometimes  steep,  over  her 
hung  like  a  white  cloud  the  wild  thorn  tree,  large  gold- 
dusted  cymes  of  viburnums,  rose-blooming  lambkill,  and 
other  sorts,  suggested  all  she  knew,  and  more  than  she 
knew,  of  the  Gardens  of  Princes.  The  feathery  moss  on 
the  old  rocks,  dewy  and  glistering,  was  full  of  fairy 
feeling.  A  chorus  of  fly-catchers,  as  hi  ancient  Greek 
worship,  from  their  invisible  gallery  in  the  greenwood, 
responded  one  to  another  ; — "Whee  whoo  whee,  wee  woo 
woo  wee,  whee  whoo,  whoo  whoo  wee — God  bless  the  little 
Margaret !  How  glad  we  are  she  is  going  to  Meeting  at 
last.  She  shall  have  berries,  nutcakes  and  good  preaching. 
The  little  Isabel  and  Job  Luce  are  there.  How  do  you 
think  she  will  like  Miss  Amy  ?  " 

Emerging  in  Dea.  Hadlock's  Pasture,  she  added  to  her 
stock  red  sorrel  blossoms,  pink  azaleas,  and  sprigs  of  penny- 
royal. Then  she  sorted  her  collection,  tying  the  different 
parcels  with  spears  of  grass.  The  Town  was  before  her 


144  MARGAUET    GOES   TO    MEETING. 

silent  and  motionless,  save  the  neighing  of  horses  and 
squads  of  dogs  that  trapsed  to  and  fro  on  the  Green.  The 
sky  was  blue  and  tender;  the  clouds  in  white  veils  like 
nuns,  worshipped  in  the  sunbeams  ;  the  woods  behind 
murmured  their  reverence ;  and  birds  sang  psalms.  All 
these  sights,  sounds,  odors,  suggestions,  were  not,  possibly, 
distinguished  by  Margaret,  in  their  sharp  individuality,  or 
realized  in  the  bulk  of  their  shade,  sense  and  character. 
She  had  not  learned  to  criticise,  she  only  knew  how  to  feel. 
A  new  indefinable  sensation  of  joy  and  hope  was  deepened 
within  her,  and  a  single  concentration  of  all  best  influences 
swelled  her  bosom.  She  took  off  her  hat  and  pricked 
grass-heads  and  blue-bells  in  the  band,  and  went  on.  The 
intangible  presence  of  God  was  in  her  soul,  the  universal 
voice  of  Jesus  called  her  forward.  Besides  she  was  about 
to  penetrate  the  profoundly  interesting  anagogue  of  the 
Meeting,  that  for  which  every  seventh  day  she  had  heard 
the  bell  so  mysteriously  ring,  that  to  which  Obed  and  his 
mother  devoted  so  much  gravity,  awe,  and  costume,  and 
that  concerning  which  a  whole  life's  prohibition  had  been 
upon  her.  Withal,  she  remembered  the  murderer,  and 
directed  her  first  steps  to  the  Jail. 

She  tried  to  enter  the  Jail  House,  but  Mr.  Shocks  drove 
her  away.  Then  she  searched  along  the  fence  till  she 
found  a  crevice  in  the  posts  of  which  the  enclosure  was 
made,  and  through  this,  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  prison, 
within  the  very  small  aperture  that  served  him  for  a  win- 
dow, she  saw  the  grim  face  of  the  murderer,  or  a  dim 
image  of  his  face,  like  the  shadow  of  a  soul  in  the  pit  of 
the  grave. 

"  I  have  brought  the  flowers,"  said  she ;  "  but  they 
won't  let  me  carry  them  to  you." 

«  We  know  it,"  replied  the  imprisoned  voice.     "  There 


MARGARET.  145 

is  no  more  world  now,  and  flowers  don't  grow  on  it ;  it's 
hell,  and  beautiful  things,  and  hearts  to  love  you,  are 
burnt  up.  There  was  blood  spilt,  and  this  is  the  after- 
wards." 

"  I  will  fasten  a  bunch  in  this  hole,"  she  said,  "  so  you 
can  see  them." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  rejoined  the  man.  "  I  had  a  child  like 
you,  and  she  loved  flowers — but  I  am  to  be  hanged — I 
shall  cry  if  you  stay  there,  for  I  was  a  father — but  that  is 
gone,  and  there  are  no  more  Angels,  else  why  should  not 
my  own  child  be  one  ?  Go  home  and  kiss  your  father,  if 
you  have  one,  but  don't  let  me  know  it." 

She  heard  other  voices  and  could  see  the  shadows 
of  faces  looking  from  other  cells,  and  hear  voices  where 
she  could  see  no  faces,  and  the  Jail  seemed  to  her  to  be  full 
of  strange  human  sounds,  and  there  was  a  great  clamoring 
for  flowers. 

"  I  will  leave  some  in  the  fence  for  you  to  look  at,"  she 
said,  in  rather  vague  answer  to  these  requests. 

Now  the  faithful  guardian  of  the  premises,  overhearing 
the  conversation,  rushed  in  alarm  from  his  rooms,  and  pre- 
sented himself  firmly  in  the  midst  of  what  seemed  to  be  a 
conspiracy.  "  What  piece  of  villany  is  this  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
snatching  the  flowers  from  the  paling.  "  In  communica- 
tion with  the  prisoners  ! — on  the  Lord's  day  !  "  Flinging 
the  objects  of  Margaret's  ignorant  partiality  with  violence 
to  the  ground,  Mr.  Shooks  looked  as  if  he  was  about  to 
fall  with  equal  spirit  upon  the  child  in  person,  and  she  fled 
into  the  street. 

Climbing  a  horse-block,  from  which  could  be  seen  the 
upper  cells  of  the  Jail,  she  displayed  her  flowers  in  sight 
of  the  occupants,  holding  them  up  at  arm's  length.  The 
wretched  men  answered  by  shouting  and  stamping.  "  If 

VOL.  i.  13 


146  MARGARET    GOES   TO    MEETING. 

words  wont  do,  we'll  try  what  vartue  there  is  in  stone?," 
observed  the  indignant  jailor,  and  thereupon  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  (he  persevering  man  fairly  pelted  the 
offender  away. 

She  turned  towards  the  Meeting-house  and  e'ntered  the 
square,  buttress-like,  silent  porch.  Passing  quietly  through, 
she  opened  the  door  of  what  was  to  her  a  more  mysterious 
presence,  and  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  broad  aisle. 

She  saw  the  Minister,  in  his  great  wig  and  strange  dress, 
perched  in  what  looked  like  a  high  box ;  above  hung 
the  pyramidal  sounding-board,  and  on  a  seat  beneath  were 
three  person*  in  powdered  hair,  whom  she  recognized  as 
the  Deacons  Hadlock,  Ramsdill  and  Penrose.  Through 
the  balustrade  that  surrounded  the  high  pews,  she  could 
see  the  heads  of  men  and  women ;  little  children  stood  on 
the  seats,  clutching  the  rounds,  and  smiled  at  her.  The 
Minister  had  given  out  a  hymn,  and  Deacon  Hadlock,  rising, 
read  the  first  line.  Then,  in  the  gallery  over  head,  she 
heard  the  toot  toot  of  Master  Elliman  on  the  pitch  pipe, 
and  his  voice  leading  off,  and  she  walked  farther  up  the 
aisle  to  discover  what  was  going  on.  A  little  toddling  girl 
called  out  to  her  as  she  passed,  and  thrust  out  her  hand  as 
if  she  would  catch  at  the  flowers  Margaret  so  conspicuously 
carried.  The  Sexton  hearing  the  noise,  came  forward  and 
led  her  back  into  the  porch.  Philip  was  not  by  nature  a 
stern  man,  he  let  the  boys  play  on  the  steps  during  the 
week,  and  the  young  men  stand  about  the  doors  on  the 
Sabbath.  lie  wore  a  shredded  wig,  and  black  clothes,  as 
we  have  said,  and  was  getting  old,  and  had  taken  care  of 
the  Meeting-house  ever  since  it  was  built,  and  though 
opposed  to  all  disturbance  of  the  worship,  he  still  spoke 
kindly  to  Margaret. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked. 


MARGARET.  147 

"  I  want  to  go  to  Meeting,"  she  replied. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how,"  she  answered. 

"  I  should  think  so,  or  you  would  not  have  brought  all 
these  posies.  This  is  no  day  for  light  conduct." 

"  May'nt  they  go  to  Meeting  too  ?  " 

"  I  see — "  he  added.  "  You  are  one  of  the  Injins,  and 
they  don't  know-how  to  behave  Sabber  days.  But  I'm 
glad  you  have  come.  You  don't  know  what  a  wicked  thing 
it  is  to  break  the  Sabbath." 

"  Mr.  Shooks  said  I  broke  it  when  I  went  to  give  the 
murderer  some  flowers,  and  threw  stones  at  me,  and  you 
say  I  break  it  now.  Can't  it  be  mended  again  ?  " 

"  You  should'nt  bring  these  flowers  here." 

"  I  saw  the  Widow  and  Obed  bring  some." 

"  Not  so  many.     You've  got  such  a  heap  !  " 

"  I  got  a  bigger  bunch  one  day." 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  these  flowers  are  a  dreadful  wicked  thing 
on  the  Lord's  day." 

"  Then  I  guess  I  will  go  home.     It  an't  wicked  there." 

•"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings  if  you  have  had  a 
bad  bringing  up.  Be  a  good  gal,  keep  still,  and  you  may 
sit  in  that  first  pew  along  with  me." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  shut  up  there." 

"  Then  you  may  go  softly  up  the  stairs,  and  sit  with  th 
gals." 

She  ascended  the  stairs,  which  were  within  the  body  of 
the  house,  and  in  a  pew  at  the  head  she  saw  Beulah  Ann 
Orff,  Grace  Joy,  and  others  that  she  had  seen  before  ;  they 
laughed  and  snubbed  their  noses  with  their  handkerchiefs, 
and  she,  as  it  were  repelled  by  her  own  sex,  turned  away, 
and  \vent  to  the  other  side  of  the  gallery,  occupied  by  the 
men.  But  here  she  encountered  equal  derision,  and  Zenas 


148  MARGARET    GOES    TO    MEETING. 

Joy,  a  tithing  man,  moved  by  regard  to  his  office  and  per- 
haps by  a  little  petulance  of  feeling,  undertook  to  lead  her 
back  to  her  appropriate  place  in  the  church.  She  resisted, 
and  what  might  have  been  the  result  we  know  not,  when 
Mom  Dill,  who  was  sitting  in  one  corner  with  Tony,  asked 
her  in.  So  she  sat  with  the  negroes.  Parson  Welles  had 
commenced  his  sermon.  She  could  not  understand  what 
he  said,  and  told  Mom  Dill  she  wanted  to  go  out.  She 
descended  the  stairs,  moving  softly  in  her  moccasons,  and 
turning  up  the  side-aisle,  proceeded  along  under  the  high 
pews  till  she  came  to  the  corner  where  she  could  see  the 
minister.  Here  she  stood  gazing  steadfastly  at  him. 
Deacon  Hadlock  motioned  her  to  be  gone.  Deacon  Rams- 
dill  limped  almost  Smiling  towards  her,  took  her  by  the 
arm,  opened  the  pew  where  his  wife  sat,  and  shut  her  in. 
Mistress  Ramsdill  gave  her  caraway  and  dill,  and  received 
in  return  some  of  the  childs  pennyroyal  and  lamb-kill,  and 
other  flowers.  The  old  lady  used  her  best  endeavors  to 
keep  Margaret  quiet,  and  she  remained  earnestly  watching 
the  Preacher  till  the  end  of  the  service. 

Noon-time  of  a  Sunday  in  a  New  England  country 
town  used  to  be,  and  even  now  is,  a  social  and  re-unitive 
epoch  of  no  small  interest.  Brothers,  uncles,  cousins,  from 
the  outskirts,  accompanied  their  relatives  to  their  homes  on 
the  green.  A  certain  class  of  men  and  boys,  with  a  meek  look 
and  an  unconscious  sort  of  gait,  would  be  seen  wending  their 
way  to  the  stoops  of  the  tavern.  Some  sat  the  wliole  hour 
on  the  Meeting-house  steps  talking  of  good  things  in  a  quiet 
undertone,  others  strolled  into  the  woods  in  the  rear ;  sev- 
eral elderly  men  and  women  retired  to  what  was  called  a 
"  Noon  House,"  a  small  building  near  the  School-house,\vhere 
they  ate  dinner  and  had  a  prayer  ;  quite  a  number  went  to 
Deacon  Penrose's.  Of  the  latter,  the  Widow  Wright. 


THE     SABBATH.  149 

Mistress  Ramsdill,  who  lived  a  little  off  the  Green,  offered 
to  take  Margaret  to  her  house,  but  the  Widow  interfered, 
saying  it  was  too  long  a  walk,  and  all  that,  and  prevailed 
with  Margaret  to  go  with  her.  This  going  to  Deacon  Pen- 
rose's  consisted  in  having  a  seat  in  his  kitchen  Sunday 
noons,  and  drinking  of  his  nice  cool  water.  Seats  were 
brought  into  the  room,  the  floor  was  duly  sanded,  the  pewter 
in  the  dresser  was  bright  and  glistening.  The  Deacon's 
own  family  and  his  particular  relations  occupied  the  parlor. 
To  this  place  came  Mistress  Whiston,  and  Old  Mistress 
Whiston,  Mistresses  Joy  and  Orff,  Breaknecks ;  Mistress 
Ravel,  from  the  North  Part  of  the  town  ;  Widows  Brent 
and  Tuck,  from  the  Mill ;  Paulina  and  Mercy  Whiston, 
and  others.  They  ate  nutcakes  and  cheese,  snuffed  snuff, 
talked  of  the  weather,  births,  deaths,  health,  sickness, 
engagements,  marriages,  of  friends  at  the  Ohio,  of  Zenas 
and  Delinda's  publishment,  and  would  have  talked  about 
Margaret,  save  that  the  Widow  protected  the  child,  assured 
them  of  her  ignorance,  and  hoped  she  would  learn  better 
by  and  by.  Mistress  Whislon  asked  Margaret  how  she 
liked  the  Meeting.  She  replied  that  she  liked  to  hear 
them  sing.  "  Sing !  "  exclaimed  Paulina  Whiston.  "  I 
wish  we  could  have  some  singing.  I  was  up  to  Brandon 
last  Sunday,  and  their  music  is  enough  sight  better  than 
ours  ;  they  have  introduced  the  new  way  almost  every 
where  but  here.  We  must  drag  on  forty  years  behind  the 
•whole  world." 

''  For  my  part,"  said  Mistress  Orff,  "  I  don't  want  any 
change ;  our  fathers  got  along  in  the  good  old  way,  and 
went  to  Heaven.  The  Quakers  use  notes  and  the  Papists 
have  their  la  sol  me's,  and  Deacon  Hadlock  says  it's  a 
contrivance  to  bring  all  those  pests  into  the  land.  Then 
it  makes  such  a  disturbance  in  the  meetings ;  at  Dunwich 
13* 


150  MARGARET. 

two  of  the  best  deacons  could'nt  stand  it,  and  got  up  and 
went  out ;  and  Deacon  Hadlock  says  he  won't  slay  to  hear 
the  heathenish  sounds.  It's  only  your  young  upstarts,  lewd 
and  irregular  people,  and  the  like  of  that,  that  wants  the 
new  way." 

"  If  our  hearts  was  only  right,"  said  Mistress  Tuck, 
"  we  should'nt  want  any  books ;  and  the  next  thing  we 
shall  know,  they  will  have  unconverted  people  singing." 

"  We  have  better  leaders,"  rejoined  Paulina,  "  than 
Deacon  Hadlock  and  Master  Elliman  ;  their  voices  are  old 
and  cracked,  and  they  drawl  on,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  the 
same  old  tunes  in  the  same  old  way." 

"  If  we  once  begin  to  let  in  new  things,  there  is  no  know- 
ing where  they  will  stop,"  replied  Mistress  Orff. 

"  Just  so,"  said  the  Widow  Tuck.  "  They  begun  with 
wagons  and  shays,  and  the  horses  wan't  used  to  it,  and  got 
frightened  at  the  noise,  and  run  away  ;  and  our  Eliashib 
came  nigh  spraining  his  ancle." 

"  I  remember,"  said  the  elder  Mistress  Winston,  "  when 
old  Parson  Bristead  down  in  Raleigh,  used  thirty  bushels 
of  sand  on  his  floors  every  year,  and  I  don't  believe  Parson 
Welles  uses  five." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  her  daughter-in-law,  "great  changes, 
and  nobody  can  tell  where  it  will  end." 

"When  I  was  a  gal,"  continued  the  senior  lady,  "they 
didn't  think  of  washing  but  once  a  month — " 

"And  now  washing  days  come  round  every  Mouday," 
added  Paulina.  "  If  you  will  let  us  have  some  respectable 
singing,  I  will  agree  to  go  back  to  the  old  plan  of  washing, 
Grandma,  ha  ha  !  " 

"  It's  holy  time,  child,"  said  her  mother. 

"I  remember,"  said  the  Widow  Brent,  who  was  a  little 


THE    SABBATH.  151 

deaf,  "  milking  a  cow  a  whole  winter  for  half  a  yard  of 
ribbin." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Mistress  Ravel,  "the  Great  Hog  up 
in  Dunwich,  that  hefted  nigh  twenty  score." 

"If  you  would  go  to  the  Pond  to-day,"  said  Margaret, 
"  I  guess  Chilion  would  play  you  a  better  tune  on  his  fiddle 
than  they  sing  at  the  Meeting." 

"  Tush,  Tush  !  "  said  the  Widow  Wright. 

"  There,  there  !  You  see  what  we  are  coming  to  ;  "  said 
Mistress  Off.  "  Booly  Ann,  where  was  the  Parson's  text 
this  forenoon  ?  " 

The  Widow  Wright  assumed  the  charge  of  Margaret  in 
the  afernoon.  The  child  kept  quiet  till  the  prayer,  when 
the  noise  of  the  hinge-seats,  or  something  else,  seemed  to 
disconcert  her,  and  she  told  her  protectress  she  wished  to 
go  home.  The  Widow  replied  there  was  to  be  a  christening, 
and  prevailed  with  her  to  stop,  and  lifted  her  on  the  seat, 
where  she  could  witness  the  ceremony.  The  Minister 
descended  from  the  pulpit,  and  Mr.  Adolphus  Hadlock 
carried  forward  the  babe,  enveloped  in  a  long  flowing 
blanket  of  white  labby  silk,  lined  with  white  satin,  and 
embroidered  with  ribbon  of  the  same  color.  The  Minister 
from  a  well-burnished  font  sprinkled  water  in  the  face  of 
the  child,  and  after  the  usual  formula  baptized  it  "  Urania 
Bathsheba."  Margaret  was  not  alone  in  the  number  of 
causes  that  disturbed  the  serenity  of  the  Meeting  that  day ; 
there  was  an  amount  of  mirth  in  the  minds  of  the  people  at 
large,  touching  Mr.  Adolphus  Hadlock's  children,  which  as 
a  matter  of  course  must  spend  itself  on  what  seemed  to  be 
their  annual  reappearance  at  the  altar. 

Finally  Mistress  Rarasdill  insisted  on  Margaret's  remain- 
ing to  the  catechizing.  Margaret  at  first  demurred,  but 
Deacon  Ramsdill  supported  the  request  of  his  wife  with 


152  MARGARET. 

one  of  his  customary  smiles,  remarking  that  "  catechising 
was  as  good  arter  the  sermon  to  the  children  as  greasing 
arter  shearing,  it  would  keep  the  ticks  oft',"  which,  he  said, 
"  were  very  apt  to  fly  from  the  old  sheep  to  the  lambs." 
The  class,  comprising  most  of  the  youths  in  town,  was 
arranged  in  the  broad  aisle,  the  boys  on  one  side,  and  the 
girls  on  the  other,  with  the  Minister  in  the  pulpit  at  the 
head. 

"  What  is  the  chief  end  of  man  ?  "  was  the  first  question  ; 
to  which  a  little  boy  promptly  and  swiftly  gave  the  appro- 
priate answer — "  How  many  persons  are  there  in  the  God- 
head ?  "  <(  There  are  four  persons  in  the  Godhead — " 
began  a  boy,  quite  elated  and  confident.  There  was  an 
instant  murmur  of  dissent.  The  neophite,  as  it  were  chal- 
lenged to  make  good  his  ground,  answered  not  so  much  to 
the  Minister  as  to  his  comrades.  "  There  is  God  the 
Father,  God  the  Son,  God  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  God 
Buonaparte — Tony  Washington  said  the  Master  said  so." 
This  and- Gallicism  and  incurable  levity  of  the  pedagogue 
wrought  a  singular  mistake  ;  but  it  was  soon  rectified,  and 
the  Catechism  went  on.  "  Wherein  consists  the  sinfulness 
of  that  state  wherein  man  fell?  "  "  The  sinfulness  of  that 
state  wherein  man  fell,  God  having  out  of  his  mere  good 
pleasure  elected  some  to  everlasting  life,  is  the  fault  and 
corruption  of  the  nature  of  every  man  that  is  naturally 
engendered  in  him,  and  deserve! h  God's  wrath  and  dam- 
nation,'' was  the  rapid  and  disjointed  answer.  The  ques- 
tion stumbling  from  one  to  another,  was  at  length  righted 
by  Job  Luce,  the  little  hunchback.  The  voice  of  this 
child  was  low  and  plaintive,  soft  and  clear,  and  he  quite 
engaged  Margaret's  attention.  There  were  signs  of  dis- 
satisfaction on  the  faces  of  others,  but  his  own  was  unruffled 
as  a  pebble  in  a  brook.  Shockingly  deformed,  the  arms  of 


THE    SABBATH.  153 

the  lad  were  long  as  an  ape's,  and  he  seemed  almost  to  rest 
on  his  hands,  while  his  shoulders  rose  high  and  steep  above 
his  head.  "  That's  Job  Luce,"  whispered  Mistress  Gams- 
dill  to  Margaret ;  "  and  if  there  ever  was  a  Christian,  I 
believe  he  is  one,  if  he  is  crooked.  Don't  you  see  how  he 
knows  the  Catechism ;  he  has  got  the  whole  Bible  eeny 
most  by  heart,  and  he  is  only  three  years  old."  Margaret 
forgot  every  thing  else  to  look  at  a  creature  so  unfortunate 
and  so  marvellous. 

When  the  Catechism  was  over  and  the  people  left  the 
church,  she  at  once  hastened  to  Job  and  took  one  of  his 
hands ;  little  Isabel  Weeks  too,  sister-like,  took  his  other 
hand,  and  these  two  girls  walked  on  with  the  strange  boy. 
Margaret  stooped  and  looked  into  his  eye,  which  he  turned 
up  to  her,  blue,  mild,  and  timid,  seeming  to  ask,  "  Who  are 
you  that  cares  for  me  ?  "  In  truth,  Job  was  we  will  not 
say  despised,  but  for  the  most  part  neglected.  His  mother 
was  a  poor  widow,  whose  husband  had  been  a  shoemaker, 
and  she  got  her  living  binding  shoes.  The  old  people 
treated  her  kindly,  but  rather  wondered  at  her  boy ;  and 
what  was  wonder  in  the  parents  degenerated  into  slight, 
jest,  and  sometimes  scorn,  in  the  children ;  so  that  Job 
numbered  but  few  friends.  Then  he  got  his  lessons  BO 
well  the  more  indolent  and  duller  boys  were  tempted  to 
envy  him. 

"  You  didn't  say  the  Catechism,"  said  he  to  Margaret. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  don't  know  it ;  but  I  have  a  Bird 
Book  and  can  say  Mother  Goose's  Songs."  Their  con- 
versation was  suddenly  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  and 
a  sigh  from  Miss  Amy  and  the  Widow  Luce,  who  were 
close  behind. 

"  Woe,  woe  to  a  sinful  mother ! "  was  the  language  of 
the  latter. 


154  MARGAKET. 

«  Child,  child  ! "  cried  the  former,  addressing  herself  to 
Margaret,  "  don't  you  like  the  Catechism  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  it,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  She  isn't  bad,  if  she  is  an  Injin,"  interposed  Isabel. 

"  Does  she  understand  Whipporwill  ?  "  abstractedly  asked 
Job. 

"  God's  hand  is  heavily  upon  us !  '  mournfully  ejaculated 
the  Widow. 

"  Can  any  thing  be  done  ?  "  anxiously  asked  Miss  Amy. 

They  stopped.  Miss  Amy  was  moved  to  take  Margaret 
by  the  hand,  and  with  some  ulterior  object  in  view  she 
detached  the  child  from  Job,  and  went  with  her  up  the 
West  Street — the  natural  rout  to  the  Pond. 

"  Did  you  never  read  the  Primer  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  Ma'am,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Have  you  never  learned  how  many  persons  there  are 
in  the  Godhead  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  little  boys  said  there  were  four,  the  others 
that  there  were  but  three.  I  should  love  to  see  it." 

"  How  dare  you  speak  in  that  way  of  the  Great  Jehovah ! " 

«  The  great  what  ?  " 

"  The  Great  God,  I  mean." 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  bird." 

"  Can  it  be  there  is  such  heathenism  in  our  very  midst ! " 
said  the  lady  to  herself.  Her  interest  in  the  state  of 
Margaret  was  quickened,  and  she  pushed  her  inquiry  with 
most  philanthropic  assiduity. 

"  Do  you  never  say  your  prayers  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  Ma'am,"  replied  Margaret.  "  I  can  say  the  Lap- 
lander's Ode  and  Mary's  Dream." 

"  What  do  you  do  when  you  go  to  bed  ?  " 

"  I  go  to  sleep,  Ma'am,  and  dream." 

"  In  what  darkness  you  must  be  at  the  Pond  ! " 


THE    SABBATH.  155 

"We  see  the  Sun  rise  every  morning,  and  the  snow- 
drops-don't  open  till  it's  light." 

"  I  mean,  my  poor  child,  that  I  am  afraid  you  are  very 
wicked  there." 

"  I  try  to  be  good,  and  Pa  is  good  when  he  don't  get  rum 
at  Deacon  Penrose's ;  and  Chilion  is  good  ;  he  was  going  to 
mend  my  flower  bed  to-day  to  keep  the  hogs  out." 

"  What,  break  the  Sabbath  !  Violate  God's  holy  day  ! 
Your  father  was  once  punished  in  the  Stocks  for  breaking 
the  Sabbath.  God  will  punish  us  all  if  we  do  so." 

"  Will  it  put  our  feet  in  the  Stocks  the  same  as  they  did 
father  ?  " 

"  No,  my  child.  He  will  punish  us  in  the  lake  that 
burneth  with  fire  and  brimstone." 

"  What,  the  same  as  Chilion  and  Obed  and  I  burnt  up 
the  bees  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  sorrowed  the  lady. 

"  We  were  so  bad,"  continued  Margaret,  "  I  thought  I 
should  cry." 

"  Deacon  Penrose  and  the  rest  of  us  have  often  spoken 
of  you  at  the  Pond ;  and  we  have  thought  sometimes  of 
going  up  to  see  you.  In  what  a  dreadful  condition  your 
father  is ! " 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,  sometimes.  He  rolls  his  eyes  so,  and 
groans,  and  shakes,  and  screams,  and  nobody  can  help  him. 
I  wish  Deacon  Penrose  would  come  and  see  him,  and  I  think 
he  would  not  sell  him  any  more  rum." 

"  Poor  little  one  ! — don't  you  know  any  thing  of  the 
Great  God  who  made  you  and  me  ?  " 

"  Did  that  make  me  ?  I  am  so  glad  to  know.  The  little 
chickens  come  out  of  the  shells,  the  beans  grow  in  the  pods, 
the  dandelions  spring  up  in  the  grass,  and  Obed  said  I 
came  in  an  acorn,  but  the  pigs  and  wild  turkeys  eat  up  the 


156  MARGARET. 

acorns,  and  I  can't  find  one  that  has  a  little  girl  in  it  like 
me." 

"  Would  you  like  to  come  down  to  Meeting  again  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  like  the  Meeting.  It  don't  seem  so 
good  as  the  Turkey  Shoot  and  Ball.  Zenas  Joy  didn't  hurt 
my  arm  there,  and  Beulah  Ann  Orff  and  Grace  Joy  talked 
with  me  at  the  Ball.  To-day  they  only  made  faces  at  me, 
and  the  man  at  the  door  told  me  to  throw  away  my  flowers." 

"  How  deceitful  is  the  human  heart,  and  desperately 
wicked ! " 

"  Who  is  wicked  ?  " 

"  We  are  all  wicked." 

"  Are  you  wicked  ?  then  you  do  not  love  me,  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  go  with  me  any  farther." 

"  Ah !  my  dear  child,  we  go  astray  speaking  lies  as  soon 
as  we  be  born." 

"  I  never  told  a  lie." 

"  The  Bible  says  so — do  not  run  away  ;  let  me  talk  with 
you  a  little  more." 

"  I  don't  like  wicked  people." 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  about  Jesus  Christ,  do  you 
know  him  ?  " 

"  No,  Ma'am — Yes,  Ma'am,  I  have  heard  Hash  speak 
about  it  when  he  drinks  rum." 

"  But  did  you  not  hear  the  Minister  speak  about  him  in 
the  pulpit  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ma'am, — does  he  drink  rum  too  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  child,  he  only  drinks  brandy  and  wine." 

"  I  have  heard  Hash  speak  so  when  he  only  drank  that." 

"  The  Minister  is  not  wicked  like  Hash, — he  does  not  get 
drunk." 

"  JIash  wouldn't  be  wicked  if  he  didn't  drink.  I  wish  he 
could  drink  and  not  be  wicked  too." 


THE    SABBATH.  157 

"  O,  we  are  all  wicked,  Hash  and  the  Minister,  and  you 
and  I ;  we  are  all  wicked,  and  I  was  going  to  tell  you  how 
Christ  came  to  save  wicked  people." 

"  What  will  he  do  to  Hash  ?  " 

"  He  will  burn  him  in  hell-fire,  my  child." 

"  Won't  he  burn  the  Minister  too  ?  I  guess  I  shall  not 
come  to  Meeting  any  more.  You  and  the  Minister  and  all 
the  people  here  are  wicked.  Chilion  is  good,  I  will  stay  at 
home  with  him." 

"  The  Minister  is  a  holy  man,  a  good  man  I  mean,  he  is 
converted,  he  repents  of  his  sins.  I  mean  he  is  very  sorry 
he  is  so  wicked." 

"  Don't  he  keep  a  being  wicked  ?  You  said  he  was 
wicked." 

"  Why,  yes,  he  is  wicked.  We  are  all  totally  depraved. 
You  do  not  understand.  I  fear  I  cannot  make  you  see  it 
as  it  is.  My  dear  child,  the  eyes  of  the  carnal  mind  are 
blind,  and  they  cannot  see.  I  must  tell  you,  though  it  may 
make  you  feel  bad,  that  young  as  you  are,  you  are  a  mourn- 
ful instance  of  the  truth  of  Scripture.  But  I  dare  not  speak 
smooth  things  to  you.  If  you  would  read  your  Bible,  and 
pray  to  God,  your  eyes  would  be  opened  so  you  could  see. 
But  I  did  want  to  tell  you  about  Jesus  Christ,  who  was  both 
God  and  Man.  He  came  and  died  for  us.  He  suffered 
the  cruel  death  of  the  cross.  The  Apostle  John  says,  he 
came  to  take  away  the  sins  of  the  world.  If  you  will 
believe  in  Christ  he  will  save  you.  The  Holy  Spirit,  that 
came  once  in  the  form  of  a  dove,  will  again  come,  and 
cleanse  your  heart.  You  must  have  faith  in  the  blood  of 
Christ.  You  must  take  him  as  your  Atoning  Sacrifice. 
Are  you  willing  to  go  to  Christ,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,  if  he  won't  burn  up  Hash,  and  I  want  to 
go  and  see  that  little  crooked  boy  too." 

VOL.    i.  14 


158  MARGARET. 

"  It's  wicked  for  children  to  see  one  another  Sundays." 

"  I  did  see  him  at  Meeting." 

"  I  mean  to  meet  and  play  and  show  picture-books,  and 
that  little  boy  is  very  apt  to  play ;  he  catches  grasshoppers, 
and  goes  down  by  the  side  of  the  brook,  before  sundown  ; 
— that  is  very  bad." 

"Are  his  eyes  sore,  like  Obed's,  sometimes,  and  the 
light  hurts  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  God's  day,  and  he  won't  let  children  play." 

"  He  lets  the  grasshoppers  play." 

"  But  he  will  punish  children." 

'•  Won't  he  punish  the  grasshoppers  too  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  am  not  afraid  of  God." 

Miss  Amy,  whether  that  she  thought  she  had  done  all 
she  could  for  the  child,  or  that  Margaret  seemed  anxious  to 
break  company  with  her,  or  that  she  had  reached  a  point 
in  the  road  where  she  could  conveniently  leave  her,  at  this 
instant  turned  off  into  Grove  Street,  and  Margaret  pursued 
her  course  homeward.  She  arrived  at  the  water  a  little 
before  sunset ;  she  fed  her  chickens,  her  squirrel  and 
robin  ;  her  own  supper  she  made  of  strawberries  and  milk 
in  her  wooden  bowl  and  spoon.  She  answered  as  she  best 
could  the  inquiries  and  banterings  of  the  family  touching 
the  novel  adventures  of  the  day.  She  might  have  been 
tired,  but  the  evening  air  and  the  voices  of  the  birds  were 
inviting,  and  her  own  heart  was  full  of  life  ;  and  she  took  a 
stroll  up  the  Indian's  Head. 

Along  a  tangled  path,  trod  by  sheep,  more  by  herself, 
and  somewhat  by  visitors  to  the  Pond,  she  wound  her  way 
to  the  summit.  This,  as  we  have  said,  was  nearly  one 
hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  water ;  on  the  top  were 
the  venerable  trunk  of  the  Hemlock  before  referred  to,  a 


VIEW    PROM    THE    HEAD.  159 

small  cluster  of  firs,  a  few  spears  of  yellow  orchard  grass 
and  brown  sorrel,  sparse  tufts  of  harebells  and  buttercups, 
bunches  of  sweet-fern,  and  mosses  growing  on  the  rocks. 
From  the  south  front  projected  a  smooth  shelving  rock 
directly  over  the  water,  forming  the  brow  of  the  so  called 
Head.  This  elevation  commanded  points  of  extensive  and 
varied  interest;  the  Pond  below,  its  dark  waters  dotted 
with  green  islands,  its  forest-skirted  shore,  the  outlet,  the 
dam,  the  deep  and  perpetual  gurgle  of  the  falling  water. 
Beyond  the  dam  was  a  broken  congeries,  the  result  of  wild 
diluvial  force  ;  horrid  gulfs,  high  rocky  pinnacles,  trees 
aslant,  green  dingles  ;  to  the  west,  the  hills  crept  along  by 
gentle  acclivities,  and  swelling  upwards,  formed,  to  an  un- 
trained eye,  the  apparent  boundaries  of  this  nether  world. 
On  the  north  was  a  continuation  of  the  ridge  of  mountains 
of  which  the  Head  itself  seemed  to  be  the  close,  proceeding 
indefinitely  till  they  met  and  melted  into  the  sky.  "On  the 
north-west,  buried  like  a  cloud  in  the  dimmest  distance, 
appeared  the  round,  bald,  but  soft  and  azure  crown  of  Old 
Umkiddin.  Beyond  the  Pond,  on  the  south,  was  a  forest, 
sweeping  onwards  to  the  heavens  without  break  or  bound. 
Turning  to  the  east  one  beheld  the  River,  its  meadows,  and 
portions  of  the  village.  In  every  direction,  here  and  there, 
on  side  hills,  in  glades  of  the  forest,  among  orchard-groves, 
appeared  the  roofs  of  houses  and  barns,  dappling  the  scene, 
and  reflecting  in  the  middle  of  the  day  a  gray,  silvery  light, 
like  mica  in  granite.  To  this  place  Margaret  ascended  ; 
hither  had  she  often  come  before,  and  here  in  her  future 
life  she  often  came. 

She  went  up  early  in  the  morning  to  behold  the  sun  rise 
from  the  eastern  hills,  and  to  be  wrapped  in  the  fogs  that 
flowed  up  from  the  River  ;  at  noon,  to  lie  on  the  soft  grass 
under  the  murmuring  firs,  and  sleep  the  midtide  sleep  of  all 


1GO  MAKGAUKT. 

nature  ;  or  ponder  with  a  childish  curiosity  on  the  mystery 
of  the  blue  sky  and  the  blue  hills  ;  or,  with  a  childish  dread, 
to  brood  over  the  deep  dark  waters  that  lay  chasmed  below 
her.  She  came  up  in  the  Fall  to  pick  bramble  berries  and 
gather  the  leaves  and  crimson  spires  of  the  sumach  for  her 
mother  to  color  with. 

She  n9w  came  up  to  see  the  sun  go  down.  Directly  on 
the  right  of  the  suusetting  was  an  apparent  jog  or  break 
at  the  edge  of  the  world,  having  on  one  side  something 
like  a  cliff  or  sharp  promontory,  jutting  towards  the 
heavens,  and  overlooking  what  seemed  like  a  calm  clear 
sea  beyond  ;  within  this  depression  lay  the  top  of  Umkid- 
din,  before  spoken  of;  here  also,  after  a  storm,  appeared 
the  first  clear  sky,  and  here  at  midday  the  white  clouds,  in 
long  ranges  of  piles,  were  wont  to  repose  like  ships  at 
anchor.  Near  at  hand,  she  could  see  the  roads  leading  to 
Dunwich  and  Brandon,  winding,  like  unrolled  ribbons, 
through  the  woods.  There  were  also  pastures  covered 
with  gray  rocks  that  looked  like  sheep  ;  the  green  woods  in 
some  places  were  intersected  by  fields  of  brown  rye,  or  soft 
clover.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  verdant  scene,  Greenness, 
like  a  hollow  ocean,  spread  itself  out  before  her ;  the 
hills  were  green  and  the  depths  also ;  in  the  forest, 
the  darkness,  as  the  sun  went  down,  seemed  to  form 
itself  into  caverns,  grottoes,  and  strange  fantastic  shapes, 
out  of  solid  greenness.  In  some  instances  she  could  see 
the  tips  of  the  trees  glancing  and  frolicing  in  the  light, 
while  the  greedy  shadows  were  crawling  up  from  their 
roots,  as  it  were  out  of  the  ground  to  devour  them.  Deep 
in  the  woods  the  blackcap  and  thrush  still  whooted  and 
clang  unweariedly  ;  she  heard  also  the  cawing  of  crows,  and 
scream  of  the  loon  ;  the  tinkle  of  bells,  the  lowing  of  cows, 
and  bleating  of  sheep  were  distinctly  audible.  Her  own 


VIEW    FROM    THE    HEAD.  161 

Robin,  on  the  Butternut  below,  began  his  long,  sweet,  many- 
toned' carol ;  the  tree-toad  chimed  in  with  its  loud  trilling 
chirrup  ;  and  frogs,  from  all  the  waters  around,  crooled, 
chubbed  and  croaked.  Swallows  skirnmered  over  her,  and 
plunged  into  the  depths  below  ;  swarms  of  flies  in  circular 
squadrons  skirmished  in  the  sunbeams  before  her  eye  ; 
at  her  side,  in  the  grass,  crickets  sung  their  lullabies  to  the 
departing  day ;  a  rich,  fresh  smell  from  the  water,  the 
•woods,  wild-flowers,  grass-lots,  floating  up  over  the  hill, 
regaled  her  senses.  The  surface  of  the  Pond,  as  the 
sun  declined,  broke  into  gold-ripples,  deepening  gradually 
into  carmine  and  vermilion  ;  suspended  between  her  eye 
and  the  horizon  was  a  table-like  form  of  illuminated  mist, 
a  bridge  of  visible  sunbeams  shored  on  pointed  shining 
piers  reaching  to  the  ground. 

Margaret  sat,  we  say,  attentive  to  all  this ;  what  were 
her  feelings  we  know  not  now,  we  may  know  hereafter ; 
and  clouds  that  had  spent  the  Sabbath  in  their  own  way, 
came  with  her  to  behold  the  sunsetting ;  some  in  long 
tapering  bands,  some  in  flocky  rosettes,  others  in  broad, 
many-folded  collops.  In  that  light  they  showed  all  colors, 
rose,  pink,  violet  and  crimson,  and  the  sky  in  a  large  cir- 
cumference about  the  sun  weltered  in  ruddiness,  while  the 
opposite  side  of  the  heavens  threw  back  a  purple  glow. 
There  were  clouds,  to  the  eye  of  the  child,  like  fishes ;  the 
horned-pout,  with  its  pearly  iridine  breast  and  iron-brown 
back :  floating  after  it  was  a  shiner  with  its  bright  golden 
armory ;  she  saw  the  blood-red  fins  of  the  yellow-perch,  the 
long  snout  of  the  pickerel  with  its  glancing  black  eye,  and 
the  gaudy  tail  of  a  trout.  She  beheld  the  sun  sink  half 
below  the  horizon,  then  all  his  round  red  face  go  down ; 
and  the  light  on  the  Pond  withdraw,  the  bridge  of  light 
disappear,  and  the  hollows  grow  darker  and  grimmer.  A 
14* 


1G2  MAKCAKKT. 

stronger  and  better  defined  glow  streamed  for  a  moment 
from  the  receding  depths  of  light,  and  flashed  through  the 
atmosphere.  The  little  rose-colored  clouds  melted  away  in 
their  evening  joy,  and  went  to  rest  up  in  the  dark  un- 
fathomable chambers  of  the  heavens.  The  fishes  swam 
away  with  that  which  had  called  them  into  being,  and 
plunged  down  the  cataract  of  light  that  falls  over  the  other 
side  of  the  earth ;  the  broad  massive  clouds  grew  denser 
and  more  gloomy,  and  extended  themselves,  like  huge- 
breasted  lions  couchant  which  the  Master  had  told  her 
about,  to  watch  all  night  near  the  gate  of  the  sun.  She  sat 
there  alone  with  no  eye  but  God's  to  look  upon  her ;  he 
alone  saw  her  face,  her  expression,  in  that  still,  warm, 
golden  sunsetting ;  she  sat  as  if  for  her  the  sun  had  gone 
down,  and  the  sky  unloosed  its  glory ;  she  sat  mute  and 
undisturbed,  as  if  she  were  the  child-queen  of  this  great 
pageant  of  Nature. 

While  at  the  Pond  the  birds  were  closing  their  strains 
and  Margaret  was  taking  her  parting  look  of  the  sky,  in  the 
village,  at  the  same  moment,  broke  forth  the  first  song  of  the 
day,  and  was  indulged  the  first  unembarrassed  vision. 
When  the  last  shimmer  of  blue  light  vanished  from  the  top 
of  the  mountain  beyond  the  River,  whither  tenscore  eyes 
were  turned,  there  exploded  the  long  twenty-four  hours 
pent  and  swollen  emotion  of  tenscore  hearts  and  voices. 
"  Sun's  down  !  "  sun's  down  !  "  was  the  first  unrestrained 
voice  the  children  had  uttered  since  the  previous  afternoon. 
This  rang  out  in  every  family  and  echoed  from  house  to 
house.  The  spell  was  broken,  the  tether  cut,  doors  and 
gates  flew  open,  and  out  the  children  dashed  into  the 
streets,  to  breathe  a  fresh  feeling,  clutch  at  the  tantalizing 
and  fast  receding  enjoyment,  and  give  a  minute's  free  play 
to  hands,  feet  and  tongues.  An  avalanche  of  exuberant 


VIEW    FROM  THE    HEAD.  1G3 

life  seemed  to  have  fallen  from  the  glacier  summits  of  the 
Sabbath,  and  scattered  itself  over  the  Green.  The  boys 
leaped  and  whooped  towards  the  Meeting-house,  flung  their 
hats  into  the  air,  chased  one  another  in  a  sort  of  stampede, 
and  called  for  games  with  all  possible  vociferation. 

Little  Job  Luce  alone  seems  to  have  no  share  in  the 
general  revel.  He  has  been  sitting  by  the  Brook  under  a 
willow,  and  as  the  boys  come  trooping  by,  he  shrinks  into 
the  house  ;  his  mother  holds  him  a  while  in  her  lap  at  the 
window,  when  he,  as  the  grasshoppers  have  already  done, 
goes  to  bed. 

The  villagers,  husbands  and  wives,  grave  and  venerable 
men,  beaux  and  sweethearts,  appear  in  the  streets,  walk  up 
the  different  roads,  and  visit  from  house  to  house. 

The  Indian's  Head  meanwhile  is  folded  in  shadows  and 
silence,  and  Margaret  is  hushed  as  the  sky  above  her ;  the 
cool  fresh  evening  wiad  blows  upon  her,  thrills  through 
her  brown  curls  and  passes  on.  Her  mother  appeared  on 
the  top  of  the  hill,  and  without  words  or  noise  sat  down 
beside  her.  She  folded  her  arm  about  Margaret's  neck, 
and  with  one  hand  grasped  that  of  the  child,  and  with  the 
other  dallied  with  the  locks  of  her  hair ; — but  abstractedly, 
and  with  her  eye  wandering  over  the  misty  expanse.  Her 
own  grizzled  hair  was  swept  by  the  wind,  and  her  bared 
swarthy  bosom  seemed  to  drink  in  life  from  the  twilight 
world.  In  calm  sternness,  in  mute  brownness  she  sat,  and 
apparently  thoughtful,  and  as  it  were  unconsciously  she 
pressed  Margaret  hard  to  her  breast.  Was  it  an  old  mem- 
ory, some  old  hope,  some  recollection  of  her  own  childhood, 
some  revival  of  her  own  mother's  image  ? — was  it  some 
feeling  of  despair,  some  selfish  calculation,  a  dim  glimpse 
into  eternity,  an  impulse  of  repenting  sin,  a  visitation  of 
God's  spirit? — was  it  a  moment  of  unavowed  tenderness? 


164  BIARGAUET. 

Presently  Chilion  came  up  with  his  viol,  and  going  to  the 
projecting  rock,  sat  with  his  feot  dangling  over  the  preci- 
pice. Margaret  withdrawing  from  her  mother  went  to  her 
brother,  leaned  on  his  shoulder,  and  looked  down  into  the 
mysterious  depth  below.  Her  brother  began  to  play,  and 
as  if  he  had  imbibed  the  dizziness,  dread  and  profundity  of 
that  abyss,  he  seemed  to  play  with  a  similar  impulse,  and 
she  shuddered  and  started;  then  relieving  the  impression,  he 
played  the  soft,  starry,  eternal  repose  of  the  heavens,  and 
chased  away  that  abyss-music  from  her  soul.  Her  father, 
too,  joined  them,  his  red  face  glistening  even  in  the  shad- 
ows ;  he  had  with  him  a  flask  of  rum  which  he  drank  ;  he 
laughed,  too,  and  repeated  many  passages  of  the  Bible,  and 
imitated  the  tones,  expression  and  manners  of  all  the  reli- 
gious persons  whom  Margaret  had  seen  in  the  village  ; 
then  making  a  pappoose  of  her,  he  carried  her  down  to  the 
house. 

That  night  Margaret  dreamed  a  dream,  and  in  this  wise 
dreamed  she.  She  was  in  a  forest,  and  the  sun  was  going 
down  among  the  trees.  Its  round  red  disk  changed  to 
yellow,  as  she  looked,  and  then  to  white ;  then  it  seemed 
to  advance  towards  her,  and  the  woods  became  magically 
luminous.  She  beheld  her  old  familiar  birds  flying  among 
the  branches  with  a  singularly  lustrous  plumage,  the  wild- 
flowers  glowed  under  her  feet,  and  the  shrubbery  was  all 
a-flame.  The  ball  of  light  come  forward  to  a  knoll  about 
a  dozen  rods  before  her,  and  stopped.  A  gradual  meta- 
morphosis was  seen  to  go  on  to  it,  till  at  last  it  came  out  in 
the  form  of  a  man,  like  a  marble  statue,  dressed  not  as 
Margaret  had  been  accustomed  to  see,  but  in  a  simple  robe 
that  descended  to  his  feet,  and  leaning  upon  a  milk- 
white  cross.  Near  this  appeared  another  form  of  a  man, 
clothed  in  a  similar  manner,  but  smaller  in  size,  and  perched 


MARGARET'S  DREAM  OF  JESUS.  165 

on  his  hand  was  a  milk-white  dove.  Margaret  looked  at 
these  men,  or  forms  of  men,  in  silent  wonder.  Presently 
she  saw  a  suffusion  and  outflowing  of  animal  life  in  them. 
The  face  of  the  first  was  pale  but  very  fair,  and  a  hidden 
under-tinge  of  color  seemed  to  show  through  an  almost 
transparent  skin,  as  she  had  seen  the  blush  of  the  white 
goosefoot  shining  through  a  dew  drop.  In  the  preternatu- 
ral light  that  filled  the  place,  Margaret  saw  that  his  eyes 
were  dark  blue,  and  his  hair,  parted  on  the  crown,  flowed 
in  dark-brown  curls  down  his  neck.  The  appearance  of 
the  other  was  similar,  only  the  glow  on  his  cheeks  seemed 
to  be  more  superficial,  and  his  look  was  more  youthful. 
The  cross  on  which  the  elder  leaned,  Margaret  now  saw 
set  in  the  ground,  where  it  grew  like  a  tree,  budded  and 
bore  green  leaves  and  white  flowers,  and  the  milk-white 
dove,  becoming  also  endowed  with  life,  flew  and  lit  upon 
the  top  of  it.  She  then  saw  the  younger  of  the  two  men 
pick  flowers  from  the  blooming  cross-tree,  and  give  them 
to  the  other,  who  seemed  pleased  with  their  beauty  and 
fragrance.  She  found  herself  moving  towards  these  two 
persons  who  had  so  singularly  appeared  to  her,  and  when 
she  saw  one  of  them  pick  off  the  flowers,  she  was  secretly 
impelled  to  do  the  same.  So  she  gathered  quite  a  bunch 
of  calico  bush,  Solomon's  seal,  lambkill  and  others  similar 
to  those  she  found  in  the  woods  on  her  way  to  the  Meeting, 
which  she  tied  with  a  grass  string.  Then  she  got  a  parcel 
of  checkerberries.  All  at  once  the  milk-white  dove  flew 
from  the  green  cross-tree  and  alighted  upon  her  shoulder, 
thus  seeming  to  establish  a  communication  between  herself 
and  these  two  persons,  and  as  she  moved  on,  all  the  birds 
in  the  woods,  the  same  as  she  had  heard  in  the  morning, 
sung  out  right  merrily.  When  she  stopped,  they  ceased 
to  sing,  and  when  she  started,  they  began  again.  As  she 


166  MAUGAKET. 

was  going  on,  suddenly  issuing  from  behind  a  tree,  appeared 
to  her  in  her  dream  the  same  lady  who  had  talked  with  her 
after  meeting,  Miss  Amy. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  said  the  lady. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  those  men,  and  give  that  beautiful 
one  those  flowers  and  berries." 

"  That  is  Jesus  Christ  that  I  told  you  about  this  after- 
noon, and  the  other  is  the  Apostle  John,"  rejoined  the 
lady. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  queried  Margaret,  "  then  I  think  he  won't  want 
my  flowers." 

"  He  is  God,  the  second  person  in  the  Godhead.  He 
does  not  want  flowers.  He  wants  you  to  believe  in  him  ; 
you  must  have  faith  in  that  cross." 

"  I  was  going  to  carry  him  flowers,  I  saw  him  smell  of 
some.  He  looks  as  if  he  would  love  me." 

"  Love  you  ?  "  rejoined  the  lady.  '-  What  does  the 
Creed  say  ?  That  you  deserve  everlasting  destruction." 

While  they  were  talking,  the  birds  ceased  to  sing,  and 
the  dove  leaving  Margaret's  shoulder  flew  back  to  the 
cross.  She  started  impulsively  and  said,  "  I  will  go."  As 
she  proceeded  slowly  along,  in  the  shifting  and  multiform 
phenomena  of  the  dream,  Deacon  Hadlock  stood  before  her, 
and  asked  where  she  was  going,  to  whom  she  made  the 
same  reply  as  before. 

"  You  cannot  go,"  said  he,  "  unless  you  are  effectually 
called.  You  are  wholly  disabled  by  reason  of  sin." 

"  It  is  only  a  little  ways,"  replied  she,  "  and  I  went  clear 
down  to  the  village  to-day  alone.  He  looks  as  if  he  wanted 
me  to  come." 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  the  Deacon,  "  if  you  were  in  a  right 
frame  of  mind,  if  you  were  duly  humbled.  You  are  vain, 
proud,  deceitful,  selfish  and  wholly  depraved." 


MARGARET'S  DKEAM  OF  JESUS.  167 

"  I  guess  I  am  not." 

"  Even  there  you  show  the  blindness  of  the  carnal 
mind." 

"  He  is  beckoning  to  me,"  cried  Margaret,  with  childish 
earnestness. 

"  If  he  should  appear  to  you  as  he  truly  is,  a  just  God, 
who  hates  sin,  and  should  gird  on  his  sword,  then  your 
rebellious  heart  would  show  itself,  then  you  would  hate 
him." 

While  Deacon  Hadlock  detained  Margaret,  the  Widow 
Luce  went  by  leading  her  crooked  boy  Job,  also  Mistress 
Hatch  and  her  little  boy  Isaiah,  and  Helen  Weeks  with  her 
brother  and  sister  Judah  and  Isabel,  and  several  elderly 
people. 

"  He  does'nt  hang  on  the  cross  as  he  does  in  the  Primer," 
said  Isaiah. 

"  Blessed  Savior !  by  faith  I  behold  thee  !  "  exclaimed 
Mistress  Palmer,  coming  through  the  woods. 

"I  thought  he  was  coming  to  judgment,  in  clouds  and 
flaming  fire,  taking  vengaance  on  them  that  know  not 
God,"  said  the  Camp-Preacher  looking  from  behind  a 
tree. 

John  the  disciple  and  companion  of  Jesus  was  now  seen 
approaching.  "  Welcome  to  Jesus  !  "  he  said,  as  he  came 
near  to  the  people.  "  The  good  shepherd  welcomes  his 
flock !  as  saith  the  old  Prophet,  '  He  will  take  the  lambs  in 
his  bosom,  and  gently  lead  those  that  are  with  young.'  He 
is  the  Eternal  Life  now  manifested  unto  you  ;  come  to  him 
that  he  may  give  you  some  of  his  life ;  he  is  the  truth,  he 
will  impart  to  you  that  truth ;  approach  him  that  his  own 
divine  image  may  be  reflected  in  you  ;  love  him,  and  so 
become  possessed  of  his  spirit."  The  crowd  drew  back  as 
the  holy  Apostle  approached.  Children  snuggled  to  their 


168  MARGARET. 

parents,  and  the  elderly  people  seemed  disconcerted. 
"  Christ  bids  me  say,"  continued  the  Apostle,  "  Suffer  the 
little  children  to  come  unto  me,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven." 

"  I  know  not  how  many  of  us  may  be  included  in  this 
invitation,"  said  Deacon  Hadlock,  as  the  senior  officer  of 
the  church,  and  more  prominent  man,  speaking  on  behalf 
of  the  company. 

'•  Whosoever  thirsts,"  replied  the  Apostle,  "  let  him  come. 
Whoever  would  have  the  true  life,  like  a  well  of  water 
spi'inging  up  in  his  soul,  let  him  come  to  the  living  source." 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  some  of  us  have  been  made 
worthy  partakers  of  the  efficacy  of  Christ's  death,"  said 
Deacon  Penrose. 

"  Whosoever  doeth  not  righteousness,"  rejoined  the  Apos- 
tle, "  is  not  of  God,  neither  he  that  loveth  not  his 
brother ;  every  one  that  loveth  is  born  of  God,  and  know- 
eth  God." 

"  I  want  he  should  take  me  in  his  arms  and  bless  me,  as 
he  did  the  little  children  in  the  Bible,"  said  Isabel  Weeks 
to  her  sister. 

"He  looks  so  beautiful  and  good,"  said  Helen,  "I 
should  rejoice  to  go  near  him.  It  seems  as  if  my  heart 
had  for  a  great  while  longed  to  meet  such  gentleness  and 
purity." 

"  Alas  ! "  exclaimed  Deacon  Hadlock,  "  that  you  should 
apply  again  that  unction  to  your  lips !  You  think  your 
natural  amiability  will  commend  you  to  Christ.  You  be- 
lieve there  is  something  good  in  your  nature, — When," 
added  he,  turning  to  the  Apostle,  "  will  this  young  woman 
see  herself  as  she  is,  feel  her  own  sinfulness,  her  utter 
helplessness  by  nature,  and  throw  herself  on  the  mere  mer- 
cy of  God  ?  " 


MARGARET'S  DREAM  OF  JESUS.  169 

"  Hold ! "  said  the  Apostle.  "  She  is  in  the  way  of  salva- 
tion. Her  natural  amiability  is  pleasing  to  Christ.  He 
was  amiable  in  his  youth  before  God  and  man.  No  human 
being  is  sinful  by  nature.  If  she  have  deep  love  in  her 
soul,  that  will  remove  all  traces  of  the  carnal  mind.  Her 
love,  I  see  it  now,  flows  out  to  Jesus,  and  his  love  ever 
flows  out  to  her,  and  all  the  children  of  men,  and  in  this 
union  of  feeling  and  spirit  will  she  become  perfect  in 
holiness." 

By  this  time,  little  Job  Luce,  as  it  seemed  in  the  dream, 
forgotten  and  neglected  by  the  crowd,  slipping  away  un- 
observed and  creeping  through  the  bushes  and  trees,  had 
gone  round  and  come  out  near  the  cross,  under  which  he 
stood,  and  began  playing  with  the  Dove  that  offered  itself 
very  familiarly  to  him.  The  little  crumpled  boy  appeared 
to  be  cured  of  his  deformity,  he  walked  erect,  the  hump 
had  fallen  from  his  back,  and  his  hands  no  longer  touched 
the  ground. 

Jesus  himself  was  now  seen  to  be  drawing  near.  The 
tree-cross,  green  and  flowering,  moved  along  with  him ;  the 
birds  in  the  woods  renewed  their  song,  and  even  the  milk- 
white  dove  flew  from  tree  to  tree,  as  it  were  to  give  good 
cheer  to  the  timid  little  birds.  Some  of  the  people  retreat- 
ed and  stood  afar  off  in  the  shade  of  the  forest,  others 
clustered  about  Deacon  Hadlock. 

"  Behold  him  ! "  outspoke  the  Apostle  John,  "  the  fairest 
among  the  sons  of  men  ;  our  elder  Brother ;  he  took  upon 
himself  our  nature,  and  is  not  ashamed  to  call  us  brethren. 
He  hath  loved  us,  and  given  himself  for  us,  as  the  good 
Paul  said,  an  offering  and  a  sacrifice  to  God  for  a  sweet 
smelling  savor." 

The  voice  of  Jesus  himself  was  heard  at  last  sounding 
heaveniy  sweet  and  tenderly  free  among  the  bewildered 

VOL.  I.  15 


170  MARGARET. 

people.  "  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.  Learn  of  me,  for  I  am 
meek  and  lowly  of  heart."  "  The  bruised  reed  he  will  not 
break,"  added  John,  "  nor  quench  the  smoking  flax." 

"I  am  not  come  to  condemn  you,"  continued  the  voice  of 
Jesus,  "  but  that  by  me  you  may  be  saved.  I  give  myself 
for  your  life.  Through  my  holiness  ye  shall  sin  no  more." 

"  We  will  go  to  him  ! "  exclaimed  Helen  Weeks  earnest- 
ly. "  Come  Isabel,  come  Margaret." 

These  three  interlocked,  Margaret  still  retaining  her 
berries  and  flowers,  the  kind  Apostle  led  forward,  and  Jesus 
smiled  upon  them  as  they  approached,  and  took  each  of 
them  by  the  hand,  and  spake  comforting  and  assuring  words 
to.  them,  and  they  looked  with  a  reverential  pleasure  into 
his  face.  Margaret,  who  from  her  own  ignorance  of  the 
person  she  addressed  felt  less  fear  of  him  than  the  others, 
was  the  first  to  speak.  "  Do  you  love  flowers  ?  "  said 
she,  at  the  same  time  extending  the  bunch  she  had  in 
her  hand.  Christ  took  them,  and  replied,  "  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  child."  "  Can  he  bless  and  love  me  ?  "  said  Helen, 
addressing  herself  directly  to  Jesus,  but  adopting  the  cus- 
tomary third  person.  "I  love  those  that  love  me,"  he 
replied.  "  Keep  your  heart  pure,  for  out  of  it  are  the 
issues  of  life,  and  I  and  the  Father  will  come  and  dwell 
with  you." 

"  Can  he  have  mercy  on  a  poor  sinner  like  me  ?  "  asked 
Mistress  Palmer. 

"I  forgive  you,  Daughter,"  he  answered ;  "  Go  and  sin 
no  more." 

"  Are  you  God  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  I  am  not  God.  But  love  me,  and  you  will  love  God," 
he  said. 

'•  There  is  some  mistake  here,"  observed  Deacon  Had- 


MARGARET'S  DREAM  OF  JESUS.  171 

lock,  as  if  he  was  afraid  Christ  had  not  fully  explained 
himself.' 

"There is  no  mistake,"  interposed  the  Apostle. 

"  But  are  we  not  saved  by  the  Atoning  Sacrifice,  and 
can  that  be  made  except  by  an  infinite  being,  and  is  not 
that  being  God?  "  added  the  Deacon. 

"  We  are  saved  by  a  divine  union  with  God  and  Christ. 
He  that  dwelleth  in  love  dwelleth  in  God  and  God  in 
him.  This  inter-dwelling  is  our  salvation,  and  this  is  the 
Atonement." 

"That's  nater,"  said  Deacon  Ramsdill,  "  I  understand 
that.  I  am  afeered  some  of  us  are  resting  upon  a  sandy 
foundation." 

"  I  was  a  poor  sinner,"  continued  the  Apostle,  "  till  I 
came  into  this  oneness  with  Christ.  I  feel  safe  and  happy 
now,  my  soul  is  elevated  and  purified.  To  be  with  him  is 
like  being  with  God  ;  to  possess  his  spirit  is  to  bear  the 
virtues  of  heaven ;  to  be  formed  in  his  image  is  the  blessed 
privilege  of  humanity.  To  effect  such  a  change  is  the 
object  for  which  he  came  into  the  world,  and  that  which  I 
have  seen  and  heard,  and  handled  and  enjoyed,  I  declare 
unto  you,  that  you,  beloved  friends,  may  have  fellowship 
with  me  ;  and  truly  my  fellowship  is  with  the  Father,  and 
with  his  Son  Jesus  Christ." 

"  "We  are  emptied  of  all  self-righteousness,"  said  Deacon 
Hadlock,  "  we  are  altogether  become  filthy." 

"  Have  you  no  love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffering,  goodness, 
faith  ?  "  asked  the  Apostle. 

"  Alas,  none,"  replied  the  Deacon. 

"  Say  not  so,  a  single  look  of  his  will  pierce  you  through 
and  through." 

"What  the  gentleman  says  may  be  true,"  interposed 
Deacon  Penrose ;  "  but  I  think  it  highly  inexpedient  to 


172  UARGARKT. 

speak  of  these  things.  "We  might  adjourn,  a  few  of  us,  to 
my  counting-room,  or  to  the  Parson's  study,  and  confer 
upon  the  matter ;  but  to  talk  in  this  way  before  all  the 
people  is  the  worst  policy  that  could  have  been  adopted." 
So  saying  he  disappeared. 

"  Look  at  these  children,"  continued  St.  John,  "  the  very 
flowers  and  berries  they  bring  are  the  affectionate  tribute 
of  their  hearts  to  the  Infinite  Goodness  and  Divine  Beauty 
that  appear  in  Christ ;  it  is  the  outflowing  of  a  pure  love ; 
it  is  the  earnest  and  foreshadowing  of  the  salvation  that 
has  already  begun  in  their  souls.  That  young  lady's 
yearning  after  the  love  of  Jesus  is  a  sign  that  the  Regen- 
eration has  commenced  within  her,  and  by  it  a  communi- 
cation is  opened  between  her  soul  and  his,  which  is  the 
Atonement,  and  so  also  she  becomes  united  to  God,  who  is 
manifested  and  resident  in  Christ." 

"  What  have  we  been  about  all  our  lives,  that  we  know 
not  so  much  of  the  Gospel  as  these  children  !  "  exclaimed 
Deacon  Hadlock  mournfully  and  yet  resistingly.  Where- 
upon it  came  to  pass  that  the  crowd  withdrew  or  melted 
away  like  a  mist,  and  Margaret,  Helen,  Isabel,  Judah,  and 
Job  Luce,  were  left  alone  with  Jesus  and  John.  Helen 
fell  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  overpowered  by  emotion  wept 
with  a  calm  deep  weeping  ;  Margaret  looked  into  his  face, 
and  tears  came  into  her  eyes  also. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me,  Job,"  said  Judah  to  the  little  boy, 
"  for  all  that  I  have  done  to  you  ?  " 

«  I  will,"  replied  Job. 

"  Be  good  children  and  love  one  another,"  said  Jesus  to 
them,  and  the  two  boys  disappeared. 

"  Weep  not,  child  of  my  love,"  said  he  to  Helen,  "cor fide 
in  me,  dwell  near  my  heart,  obey  the  Gospel ;  I  will  be  the 
life  of  your  life,  the  wellspring  of  your  soul,  and  in  purity 


MARGARET'S  DBEAM  OF  JESUS.  173 

shall  Heaven  be  revealed  in  you.  The  little  Isabel,  she 
shall  be  blest  too,  I  will  carry  the  lamb  in  my  bosom." 
When  he  had  said  this,  they  two  vanished  from  the  dream. 

"You  ask  me  who  is  God,  child,"  said  he  turning  to 
Margaret,  who  now  alone  remained ;  "  God  is  Love.  Be 
pure  in  heart,  and  you  shall  see  God.  Love  much,  and  he 
shall  be  manifest  to  you.  Your  flowers  are  fair,  your  spirit 
is  fairer ;  I  am  well  pleased  with  their  fragrance,  the  breath 
of  your  love  is  sweeter  to  me. — Margaret ! "  he  continued, 
"  to  you  it  shall  be  given  to  know  the  mysteries  of  Heaven. 
But  the  end  is  not  yet.  Man  shall  rise  against  his  fellow  ; 
and  many  shall  perish.  The  Church  has  fallen.  The  Eve 
of  Religion  has  again  eaten  the  forbidden  fruit.  You  shall 
be  a  co-worker  with  me  in  its  second  redemption.  I  speak 
to  you  in  parables,  you  understand  not.  You  shall  under- 
stand at  another  day.  You  are  young,  but  you  may  advance 
in  knowledge  and  goodness.  You  must  be  tempted,  blessed 
if  you  can  endure  temptation.  Be  patient  and  earnest, 
hopeful  and  loving.  I  too  was  a  child  like  you,  and  it  is 
that  you  must  be  a  child  like  me.  Through  the  morning 
shadows  of  childhood  you  shall  pass  to  the  perfect  day.  I 
unconsciously  grew  in  favor  with  God  and  man,  so  shall 
you.  This  Cross  is  the  burden  of  life,  which  all  must  bear. 
Bear  it  well,  and  it  shall  bring  forth  flowers  and  fruit  to 
you.  This  Dove  stands  for  the  innocency  and  virtue, 
strength  and  support,  that  flow  from  God  to  all.  In  a 
dream  have  all  these  things  passed  before  you.  Forget  not 
your  dream.  There  is  much  evil  in  the  world,  sin  not. 
You  must  be  afflicted,  faint  not.  Let  me  kiss  you,  my 
sweet  child." 

Thus  spake  Jesus,  and  the  dream  again  changed.  The 
two  persons  were  seen  to  return  to  marble-like  forms,  and 
15* 


174  MARGARET. 

these  forms  became  a  round  ball  of  light,  which,  receding 
through  the  forest,  stood  on  the  distant  mountains  like  the 
setting  sun,  and  Margaret  awoke.  The  morning  light 
streamed  into  her  chamber ;  from  her  window  she  saw  the 
golden  sun  coming  up  over  the  dark  woods,  and  the  birds 
were  pealing  their  songs  through  the  amber  air. 

The  child  went  down  with  bright  feelings,  light-hearted 
and  free  ;  she  brought  water  from  the  cistern  for  her  mother 
to  wash,  spread  the  clothes  on  the  bushes,  and  scared  the 
birds  from  yarn  that  was  hung  out  to  dry. 


THE    STILL.  175 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MARGARET     PASSES   A   NIGHT     AT     THE     STILL,    AND     SOLOMON 
SMITH    MAKES    HER   USEFUL. 

IT  will  be  remembered  that  Hash,  the.  brother  of  Mar- 
garet, at  the  Spring  training,  was  punished  not  only  by 
imprisonment,  but  also  with  an  inconsiderable  fine,  for 
disorderly  behavior  on  that  occasion.  Not  being  himself 
possessed  of  the  money,  he  had  recourse  to  the  Smiths  at 
No.  4,  to  whom  he  pledged  his  oxen  for  the  necessary  sum. 
To  acquit  himself  in  that  quarter,  he  engaged  his  services 
as  night-warden  at  the  Still.  In  addition — for  this  seemed 
to  be  a  point  especially  insisted  upon — he  promised  that 
Margaret  should  accompany  him  in  that  duty. 

The  "  Still,"  or  Distillery,  was  a  smutty,  clouted,  suspi- 
cious looking  building,  down  in  a  hollow  by  Mill  Brook. 
It  rose  a  single  story  on  one  side  and  two  on  the  other,  into 
the  former  of  which  the  barrels  of  cider  were  rolled,  and 
emptied  into  the  cauldron  below.  The  latter  was  the  chief 
scene  of  operation  ;  here  were  the  furnace  ;  the  boiler  with 
its  cap  for  collecting  the  vapor  and  conveying  it  into  the 
worm-pipe  or  condenser ;  the  refrigerator,  an  immense  cask, 
holding  the  worm,  and  supplied  with  fresh  water  by  long 
wooden  troughs  from  the  Brook  above  ;  and  the  receiver,  a 
barrel,  into  which  the  condensed  vapor  of  the  cider,  now 
having  assumed  the  form  called  spirits,  issuing  from  the 
worm,  fell  drop  by  drop. 

Here  at  nightfall  were  wont  to  assemble  the  people  of 
the  neighborhood,  including  even  some  young  females. 


176  MARGARET. 

Hither  came  Margaret  with  Hash  and  Bull.  A  pine 
torch  blazed  from  the  bunghole  of  a  barrel.  Boys  were 
crouched  on  the  earth  playing  mumble-the-peg.  Old 
Isaac  Tapley,  with  both  hands  in  his  waistband,  leaned 
on  the  boiler  critically  quaffing  jets  of  steam  that  a  lucky 
leak  afforded.  Little  Isaiah  Hatch  would  desperately  steal 
on  his  finger's  end  a  drop  that  fell  from  the  worm.  The 
neighbors  were  kind,  and  seemed  to  vie  with  one  another 
who  should  be  most  useful,  helping  Solomon  roll  up  the 
barrels,  tier  on  tier,  bring  in  fuel,  and  keep  the  fire  in  good 
countenance. 

Damaris  Smith  politely  offered  to  instruct  Margaret  in 
the  game  of  Fox  and  Geese,  which  they  played  sitting  on 
a  bench  with  little  hollows  and  lines  branded  in  it. 

At  length  the  nine  o'clock  bell  was  heard  from  the  vil- 
lage, a  tone  mellowed  by  the  distance  and  the  woods,  and 
which  breaking  in  upon  many  a  scene  of  idleness,  dissipa- 
tion, domestic  quiet,  or  friendly  visit,  admonished  the  gay 
of  vanity,  the  devout  of  prayer,  and  all  of  bedtime.  The 
neighbors  left,  and  presently  the  head  of  the  establishment 
retired  also,  leaving  Margaret  and  Hash  to  their  night's 
work,  that  of  tending  the  fire.  It  was  not  long  before 
Hash,  whom  Solomon  had  been  treating  with  singular  gen- 
erosity, exhibited  signs  of  intoxication,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  fell  senseless  to  the  ground.  Then  was  Margaret 
left  alone  with  a  dead-drunk  brother,  a  roaring  furnace,  a 
hot  and  hissing  cauldron,  barrels  of  detestable  drink,  gro- 
tesque and  frightful  shadows  leaping  on  the  beams ;  while 
through  holes  in  the  floor  above,  from  the  dark  and  lonely 
upper  room,  the  reflected  light  seemed  to  grin  at  her  like  a 
demon  of  Despair.  When  the  fire  burnt  low,  she  replen- 
ished it  with  dry  hemlock,  which  snapped  like  the  report 
of  subterranean  musketry ;  while  the  sparks  pouring  out  like 


THE    STILL.  177 

hail  and  falling  on  her  brother's  face,  she  was  obliged  to 
shield  it  with  boards.  The  gurgling  of  the  water,  as  it 
flow-ed  in  and  out  from  the  vat,  would  have  been  music  to 
her  ears,  if  she  were  free  to  enjoy  it ;  but  it  was  her  own 
sweet  Pond  contributing  to  the  wicked  business  of  rum- 
making  ; — and  so  too  was  she.  Would  she  finish  her  work, 
arid  flow  away  as  uncontaminated  ? 

Her  father  had  never  troubled  her  with  ghost-stories, 
and  she  was  not  inclined  to  yield  to  unreal  alarms.  The 
night  was  dark  and  chilly.  She  could  see  nothing  out 
doors  but  great  tremulous  masses — masses  of  shadow,  and 
hear  nothing  save  the  Brook,  which  sounded  as  if  it  ran 
somewhere  very  deep  under  ground.  Yet  it  was  quite  re- 
freshing to  turn  from  the  hot  furnace  and  fetid  atmosphere 
of  the  place  to  the  cool  and  pure  door-way,  even  if  it  was 
dark  all  round  and  she  seemed  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  an  in* 
finite  loneliness.  Her  good  angel,  the  dog,  followed  her  steps 
wherever  she  went ;  and  once  he  looked  so  in  her  face,  as 
if  there  was  a  tear  of  sympathy  in  his  eye  :  what,  indeed, 
she  had  done  before  in  her  life, — she  put  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  wept.  She  did  not  complain,  or  fear,  or  feel  any 
wrong  or  loss,  but  she  wept  irresistibly  because  her  dog 
loved  her ;  and  then  she  continued  to  weep  as  it  were  me- 
chanically because  there  was  nothing  to  occupy  her  deep 
sensitive  faculties,  and  her  tears  alone  remained  to  flow  out ; 
and  so  too  she  fell  to  laughing,  and  laughed  almost  wildly 
and  incoherently ;  then  chills  crept  over  her,  partly  from 
the  increasing  and  overpowering  coldness  of  the  air,  and 
partly  from  an  irrepressible  nature  which  must  always  feel 
cold  if  it  be  not  deeply  and  warmly  loved. 

She  then  went  and  sat  on  the  bench  before  the  fire,  and 
Bull  crouched  right  in  front  of  her  and  seemed  to  be  keep- 
ing watch  over  her  countenace ;  and  she  fell  to  gazing  into  his 


178  .     MARGARET. 

eyes ;  and  as  she  looked  the  eyes  appeared  to  swell  till 
they  became  big  as  saucers,  and  the  circle  spread  more  and 
more  till  it  was  like  a  great  sheet  of  water.  She  saw  in 
the  water,  purple  waves,  like  sunset,  and  moonlight  doings 
in  the  shape  of  golden  fish,  fiery  lizards,  and  little  young 
lightnings  at  play,  such  as  she  had  often  seen  in  the  Pond. 
She  seemed  to  herself  to  be  going  into  the  water,  and  down 
and  down  she  went  till  she  came  to  a  hollow  place  at  the 
bottom,  where  she  stood  as  it  were  on  a  plain. 

Here  she  saw  a  large  silver  cauldron  over  a  fire, — some- 
thing like  the  arrangement  her  brothers  adopted  for  boiling 
maple  sap, — and  her  first  impulse  was  to  go  to  the  fire  and 
dry  her  clothes.  Before  she  could  reach  it,  there  passed 
her  three  blooming  and  fairy-like  girls,  the  like  of  whom 
she  had  never  seen.  One  of  them  ran  and  cast  on  the  fire 
an  armful  of  rosebushes,  bright  autumnal  leaves,  aromatic 
dead  ferns,  and  white  cotton  grass,  which  made  quite  a 
blaze.  Another  one  collected  wild  flowers  that  were  seen 
growing  every  where,  and  threw  into  the  cauldron  eye- 
brights,  azaleas,  rhodoras,  and  many  more.  The  third  girl 
stood  by  the  vessel  and  stirred  it  with  a  long  silver  ladle. 

These  persons  did  not  speak  to  Margaret,  nor  she  to 
them.  Events  passed  quietly,  though  every  thing  was  full 
of  interest.  The  girls  kept  at  work;  they  caught  the 
wriggling  moonbeams  and  threw  them  into  the  pot ;  they 
skimmed  off  the  purple  twilight  to  add  to  the  ingredients ; 
turning  a  faucet  at  the  end  of  a  silver  pipe  connecting  with 
the  blue  sky,  they  set  that  running  in  ;  one  had  a  mortar 
in  which  she  pounded  sweet-scented  herbs,  as  chamomile 
and  marjoram,  for  seasoning ;  two  or  three  rainbows  were 
picked  up  and  thrown  in. 

After  it  was  sufficiently  boiled,  they  began  to  dip  out 
this  singular  compound  and  pour  it  on  the  ground.  The 


THE  CREATION  OF  BEAUTY.  170 

liquor  congealed  as  it  fell,  and  the  mass  increased  in  an 
opal-like  human  form.  As  they  continued  to  discharge  the 
contents  of  the  vessel,  feet  were  formed,  and  legs,  breast, 
arms,  and  the  shape  of  a  head.  One  poured  on  another 
ladle  full,  and  beautiful  eyes  appeared ;  a  second  ladle  pro- 
duced a  delicate  lovely  color  in  the  face  ;  another  covered 
the  head  and  neck  with  long,  dark,  curling  hair.  When 
the  Form,  which  was  that  of  a  woman,  was  complete,  they 
wove  with  their  fingers  out  of  the  light  a  sort  of  drapery, 
which  they  threw  over  it.  Then  one  began  to  sing,  and 
another  to  play  on  a  harp  ;  while  the  third  led  down  from 
the  skies  the  brilliant  Planet  Venus,  by  a  bridle  of  blue 
taste  tied  to  one  of  its  rays,  and  fastened  it  to  a  spear  of 
grass  to  keep  it  from  running  off.  While  the  two  first 
were  singing  and  playing,  the  Spirit  of  Life  came  into  the 
Form,  filling  it  with  soul,  and  it  stood  before  them  a  perfect 
human  being.  The  three  girls  seemed  greatly  delighted 
with  the  beautiful  lady  they  had  created,  and  were  even 
transported  to  such  a  degree  as  if  they  would  worship  her. 
The  Beauty,  for  such  the  new-formed  woman  might  wor- 
thily be  called,  did  not  however  long  consent  to  receive 
the  adulation  of  the  others,  but  took  pains  to  demonstrate 
her  equality  with  them  in  sundry  pleasing  ways,  and  the 
four  disported  together  on  the  green  grass  ;  then  they  all 
went  to  bathe  in  a  stream  of  clear  water  that  opened  near 
by.  After  this  the  Beauty  was  seated  on  the  brilliant 
Planet  Venus,  which  was  unhitched,  and  seemed  very  eager 
to  be  off. 

Now  Margaret  had  not  been  able  to  communicate  with 
what  was  going  on;  but  wishing  to  do  something,  and 
thinking  she  ought  first  to  dry  her  clothes  before  appear- 
ing before  such  nice  people,  she  went  to  the  fire,  when  lo ! 
her  dress  was  not  wet,  for  it  instantly  took  fire,  and  blazed 


180  MARGARET. 

right  up,  and  spread  a  bright  iridine-like  illumination  all 
about  her.  Then  such  joy  as  these  wonderful  creatures 
showed  when  they  saw  the  little  Margaret  all  a-fire  was 
never  seen;  and  so  beautifully  flaming!  and  they  all 
seemed  to  be  in  flame-land  and  in  flame-feeling.  The  steed, 
if  such  it  might  be  called,  the  evening  star,  could  stand  it 
no  longer,  it  leaped  away  with  its  fair  rider,  and  these 
lovely  creations  of  a  dream  vanished  into  the  most  beautiful 
light  that  ever  was. 

The  growling  of  the  dog  waked  Margaret,  and  she  found 
she  had  been  dreaming ;  and  that  with  her  head  pillowed 
on  the  neck  of  her  dumb  protector. 

The  cur  had  no  bad  motive  in  disturbing  the  fancies  of 
his  little  mistress  ; — like  a  wise  mentor,  he  wished  to  call 
her  attention  to  impending  realities.  Somebody  was 
about  the  Still.  Somebody's  footsteps  could  be  heard  in 
the  thick  midnight  without,  and  somebody's  head  was  pres- 
ently seen  looking  in  at  the  door.  If  it  had  been  one  of 
the  beautiful  girl's  of  the  dream,  we  guess  Bull  would  not 
have  growled  as  he  did,  for  he  was  a  very  partial  and  dis- 
criminating dog,  and  always  liked  every  one  that  Margaret 
liked ;  therefore  she  was  a  little  frightened  when  he  growled 
so  strong,  and  one  might  almost  say  she  snuggled  down  in 
the  dog's  lap,  so  closely  did  she  cling  to  him. 

But  this  strange  Somebody  at  the  door  spoke,  and  then 
Margaret  knew  who  it  was — that  it  was  Solomon  Smith — 
and  he  spoke  very  kindly.  Crossing  the  threshold,  he 
looked  as  if  he  was  more  afraid  of  being  hurt,  than  of 
hurting.  He  seated  himself  rather  timidly  on  an  end  of 
the  bench,  and  edged  towards  her.  One  might  see  that 
this  fellow  was  very  much  pleased  to  find  Hash  so  sound 
asleep,  and  that  he  had  no  intention  of  waking  him.  He 
spoke  under  his  breath,  and  commended  the  child  for 


SOLOMON    SMITH.  181 

minding  the  fire  so  well,  and  asked  her  if  she  wouldn't  have 
some  toddy,  which  she  refused. 

"  You  are  a  curis  creeter,"  he  continued,  "  and  an't  no 
moon-calf  nuther.  You  know  at  the  trainin',  guess  as  how 
I  found  you  out  in  the  rain,  and  took  you  into  the  Tavern, 
and  you  might  have  staid  there  all  night  for  all  any  body 
else  lookin'  arter  you.  Now  you  won't  begrutch  me  a 
favor  will  you,  Peggy  ?  Can  you  tell  what  makes  the 
likker  come  out  of  that  are  pipe  ?  " 

"  I  can't,"  she  replied.     "  I  wish  it  didn't." 

u  What  makes  dogs  howl  when  you  die  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  think  Bull  would,  if  I  should  die." 

"  Didn't  you  know  you  could  catch  a  thief  by  putting  a 
rooster  under  a  kittle  ?  It'll  crow  as  soon  as  the  rascal 
touches  it,  guess  as  how." 

"  I  didn't  know  that." 

"  You  found  the  water  up  to  Mr.  Palmer's,  didn't  you, 
Peggy  ?  "  he  inquired  in  an  increasingly  low  and  earnest 
manner. 

"  The  boys  found  it." 

"  You  carried  the  stick,  and  Nimrod  said  you  found  it, 
and  so  did  Rhody  and  the  Widder." 

"  Did  they  say  so  ?  " 

"  Now  I  want  you  should  tell  me  if  you  ever  found  a 
four-leaf  clover  ?  Speak  low ;  walls  have  ears." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  twenty  in  the  Mowing." 

"  Did  you  ever  kill  a  cricket  ?  " 

"  They  sing  so  pretty,  I  couldn't  kill  one." 

"  That's  you.  I  wouldn't  kill  one.  It's  dum  bad.  Do 
you  put  a  Bible  under  your  pillow  when  you  go  to  bed  ?  " 

"  What,  such  as  Miss  Amy  told  me  about  ?  She  says 
the  Bible  makes  people  all  wicked ;  and  Pa's  Bible  makes 
us  wicked  too.  I  don't  like  Bibles." 

VOL.  i.  16 


182  MARGARET. 

"  Little  coot !  Don't  you  know  the  Bible  is  the  best 
book  in  the  world.  I  always  sleep  with  one,  guess  as 
how.  Let  me  see  your  finger  nails.  Is  there  any  black 
spots  on  them  ?  " 

"When  they  are  dirty,  and  I  dig  roots  for  Obed." 

"Now  keep  shy,  Peggy,  I  want  to  tell  you  something. 
I  have  had  a  dream." 

"  Do  you  dream  too  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  a  dream  three  nights  a  runnin'.  I  can't  tell 
you  all  about  it  now.  But  look  here,  Peg,  Hash  owes  us, 
and  he'll  have  to  lose  his  oxen  if  the  money  is'nt  paid  dum 
soon.  He  drinks  more  than  his  work  comes  to,  but  if  you 
are  willing  to  do  what  I  want  you  to,  I'll  let  him  off." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  asked  Margaret,  with  a  slight  twinge 
of  uncertainty  and  distress. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  up  with  me  to-night,  to  the  Fortune- 
teller's, Joyce  Dooly's." 

To  this  proposal,  the  young  man,  after  considerable  coax- 
ing and  threatening,  succeeded  in  gaining  Margaret's  con- 
sent; promising  that  he  would  release  Hash  altogether 
from  his  obligations,  if  she  would  do  as  he  wished. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  horse  was  at  the  door,  and  taking 
Margaret  behind,  with  the  dog  of  course  as  sort  of  king's 
guard,  Solomon  rode  off,  plunging  as  it  were  into  bottom- 
less night  and  interminable  woods.  Up  the  Brandon  road 
half  a  mile  or  so,  they  dismounted  and  struck  into  a  thicket. 
Margaret  had  to  hold  by  the  skirt  of  Solomon's  coat,  while 
he  felt  his  way  before.  They  espied  at  length  a  light,  and 
entered  a  door.  In  a  small,  low,  ragged  room,  in  what  sort 
of  a  house  or  place  it  was  impossible  for  Margaret  to  tell, 
she  saw  an  old  woman  with  a  dish  of  coals  and  two  tallow 
candles  burning  before  her  on  a  table,  both  of  which  she 
seemed  to  be  intently  watching.  She  was  evidently  pre- 


THE    FORTUNE-TELLER.  183 

pared  for  the  visit,  and  showed  by  her  manner  that  she  had 
been  waiting  their  arrival.  Joyce  Dooly,  the  Fortune- 
teller, was  of  course  old,  with  a  peaked  and  shrivelled  face, 
and  black  and  sharp  eye. — Why  should  not  a  fortune- 
teller be  young  and  pretty  ? — Her  dress  withal  was  fantastic 
as  her  art.  She  muttered  and  peeped,  as  the  Bible  says, 
like  a  wizard. 

Five  cats  darted  from  chairs  and  the  chimney  side,  when 
the  dog  entered,  hissing  and  spitting,  and  all  raised  their 
backs  together  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  This  movement 
seemed  to  disturb  the  magician  for  a  moment,  but  observing 
it  more  attentively  she  became  quiet,  as  if  all  was  right. 

Her  immediate  business  was  with  Margaret,  whom,  after 
settling  certain  preliminaries  with  the  coals  of  fire,  the 
candle  wicks,  the  cats,  some  cards  and  astrological  tracts 
that  lay  on  the  table,  but  which  we  need  not  describe,  she 
proceeded  to  examine. 

"  In  what  month  were  you  born  ?  "  asked  the  Fortune- 
teller. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  What,  how ! "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise  and  rebuke.  "  Why  have  you  brought  the  little 
one  here  ?  Nativity  is  the  most  important.  In  what 
house,  Aquarius,  Cancer,  or  Mercury, — we  know  nothing 
about  it.  Was  Jupiter  in  the  ascendant  ?  The  Moon  in 
aspect  to  what  ?  How  can  we  tell  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  your  riggledorums,"  retorted  Solomon, 
with  suppressed  impatience.  "  Will  she  answer  my  pur- 
pose ?  You  have  got  your  money  to  find  out  that,  and  that 
is  all  I  want  to  know." 

"  Hold,  Solomon  ! "  she  said  with  an  overawing  sternness. 
"  The  cats  are  against  you.  Keep  still.  Here,  child,  let 
me  look  at  you.  Curled  hair,"  so  she  went  on,  "denoteth 


184  MARGARET. 

heat  and  drought ;  brown,  fairness,  justice,  freedom  and 
liberality.  Your  signs  are  contradictory,  child.  Venus 
must  have  been  in  square  signs,  when  you  were  born.  Do 
you  never  have  any  trouble  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  she  replied,  "  when  Deacon  Penrose  and 
Mr.  Smith  sell  rum  to  Pa  and  Hash." 

"  Take  note,  Solomon,"  so  the  woman  admonished  the 
fellow,  "  she  refers  her  troubles  to  you.  She  prognosticates 
disaster,  sorrow  and  death.  You  had  better  let  her  alone." 

Solomon  became  inwardly  greatly  excited,  but  he  strove 
to  control  himself,  and  whispered  something  in  the  ears  of 
the  woman,  who  turned  again  to  the  child. 

"  Lips,"  she  continued,  "  fairly  set  and  well  colored  argue 
fidelity,  and  a  person  given  to  all  virtue  ;  brow  high  and 
smooth,  signifieth  a  sincere  friend  and  liberal  benefactress  ; 
small  ears,  a  good  understanding  ;  neck  comely  and  smooth, 
a  good  genius  ;  brown  eyes,  clear  and  shining,  ingenuity, 
nobility  and  probity.  Let  me  see  you  laugh.  Teeth  white 
and  even,  argue  sweetness  and  reverence  ;  dimples,  persua- 
sion and  command ;  hand,  soft  and  clear,  hath  discretion, 
service,  delight  in  learning,  peace-loving  ;  palm  D  in  mount 
of  the  Moon, — ha  !  ha  !  do  you  want  to  know,  child !  many 
and  dutiful  and  fair  children, — would  you  like  to  have 
children  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,"  replied  Margaret. 

The  old  lady  seemed  to  be  wandering,  and  becoming 
quite  absorbed  in  the  characteristics  and  tokens  of  the  child, 
she  gave  renewed  uneasiness  to  Solomon,  who  expressed 
his  feelings  in  a  loud  and  somewhat  menacing  tone. 

"  Rest  thee,  young  man !  "  she  replied,  "  thy  fortune  is 
wrapt  in  that  of  the  child.  The  hour  cometh.  Your  sig- 
nificator  must  apply  to  a  sextile  of  Mercury  and  Venus. 
I  see  a  coffin  in  the  wick  of  this  candle.  Scare  the  cats, 


THE    FORTUNE-TELLER.  185 

let  me  see  them  jump  once  more.     Now  is  your  moment, 
depart." 

"Whatever  might  be  the  meaning  of  this  visit  and  this 
singular  mummery  to  Margaret,  Solomon,  it  appeared, 
had  accomplished  his  object,  and  was  ready  to  leave.  Ee- 
tracing  their  steps  through  the  darkness  and  wood,  they 
came  back  to  the  Still.  Margaret  would  have  gone  in  to 
her  brother,  but  Solomon  declared  he  had  something  more 
for  her  to  do,  and  insisted  that  she  should  go  a  little  farther 
with  him.  They  went  up  the  road  leading  to  the  Pond, 
and  arriving  at  a  growth  of  trees  known  as  the  Pines, 
Solomon  hitched  his  horse,  and  led  Margaret  once  more 
into  the  depths  of  the  forest.  Reaching  a  spot  which  he 
seemed  previously  to  have  in  his  mind,  he  put  a  hazel-twig 
into  the  child's  hand,  and  bade  her  go  about  among  the 
trees  in  the  same  manner  as  she  did  at  Mr.  Palmer's  at  the 
Ledge.  She  was  not  long  in  announcing  the  movement  of 
the  stick,  and  the  young  man  identified  the  magic  spot  as 
well  as  he  could  in  the  darkness,  by  piling  a  heap  of  stones 
oyer  it.  She  asked  him  what  it  was  for,  but  he  declined 
telling;  and  what  he  would  not  do,  we  must,  since  in  the 
sequel  the  whole  affair  came  out. 

This  young  Smith  had  a  dream,  three  nights  successively, 
of  gold  hid  in  the  Pines.  He  could  not  ascertain  the  pre- 
cise locality,  and  sundry  private  canvassings  of  the  earth 
with  a  spade  had  hitherto  been  fruitless.  Hence  his  anx- 
iety to  secure  the  services  of  Margaret,  whose  success  on 
a  former  occasion  with  the  divining  rod  he  had  been  apprized 
of;  hence  also  his  visit  to  Joyce  Dooly,  the  Fortune-teller, 
for  the  purpose  of  fortifying  himself  more  completely  in 
his  undertaking. 

Pnce  more  in  this  night  of  wanderings  and  mystery  was 
Margaret  conducted  to  the  Still.  Nor  did  morning  dawn 


186  MARGARET. 

until  Solomon  had  time  to  dispose  of  his  horse  in  the  stable, 
and  himself  in  bed,  before  any  of  his  family  were  stirring. 
Margaret  found  Hash  yet  in  his  sleep,  the  fire  decayed, 
and  the  Still  dark,  cold,  and  dismal  as  the  morning  after  a 
debauch.  She  rekindled  the  fire,  sufficiently  at  least  for 
her  own  comfort,  and  lying  down  before  it,  sheltering  her- 
self in  what  never  failed  either  in  kindness  or  support,  the 
arms  of  her  dog,  fell  fast  asleep. 


WHAT   IS    GOD?  187 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MARGARET  INQUIRES  AFTER  THE  INFINITE  J  AND  CANNOT 
MAKE  HER  WAT  OUT  OF  THE  FINITE. — HER  PROGRESS  QUITE. 
EXCITING. 

"  WHAT  is  God  ?  "  said  'Margaret  one  morning  to  the 
Master,  who  in  his  perambulations  encountered  her  just  as 
she  was  driving  the  cow  to  pasture,  and  helped  her  put 
up  the  bars ;  both  of  them  standing  under  a  large  oak  that 
shaded  the  spot. 

"  God,  God — "  replied  he,  drawing  back  a  little,  and 
thrusting  his  golden-headed  cane  under  his  arm,  and  blow- 
ing his  nose  with  his  red  bandanna  handkerchief.  "  You 
shut  your  cow  in  the  pasture  to  eat  grass,  don't  you,  mea 
discipula?"  added  he,  returning  the  handkerchief  to  his 
pocket,  and  planting  himself  once  more  upon  his  cane. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"What  if  she  should  try  to  get  out?  " 

lt  We  put  pegs  in  the  bars." 

"  Pegs  in  the  bars !  ahem.  Suppose  she  should  stop 
eating,  and  leaning  her  neck  across  the  bars,  cry  out,  *  O 
you,  Mater  hominum  bovumque  !  who  are  you  ?  Why  do 
you  wear  a  pinafore  ?  '  In  other  words,  should  ask  after 
you,  her  little  mistress ;  what  would  you  think  of  that, 
hey?" 

(<  I  don't  know  what  I  should,"  replied  Margaret,  "  it 
would  be  so  odd." 

"  Cows,"  rejoined  the  Master,  "  had  better  eat  the  grass, 
drink  the  water,  lie  in  the  shade,  and  stand  quietly  to  be 
milked,  asking  no  questions." 


188  MARGARET. 

"  But  do,  sir,"  she  continued,  "  tell  me  what  God  is" 

The  Master  folded  back  both  his  ruffle  cuffs,  lifted  his 
golden-headed  cane  into  the  air,  and  cleared  at  a  sudden 
bound  the  road-side  ditch,  leaping  with  such  force  his  large 
shovel  hat  fell  into  the  water.  Margaret  picked  up  the 
unfortunate  article,  and  wiping  it  very  carefully  on  her 
apron  returned  it  to  its  owner,  a  circumstance  that  seemed 
to  recall  the  bewildered  man  to  the  thread  of  the  child's 
feelings.  And  he  replied  to  her,  saying, — 

"  Felix  qui  potuit  rerura  cognoscere  causas.  God,  child, 
is  Tetragrammative,  a  Four-wordity ;  in  the  Hebrew  rn-p> 
the  Assyrian  Adad,  the  Egyptian  Amon,  the  Persian  Syre, 
the  Greek  ©EOC,  Latin  Deiis,  German  Gott,  French  Dieu  ; 
Tt>v  nraQpov  Qeov  rjyoufiedu,  says  Aristotle  ;  '  God  is  the 
Divine  Being,'  says  Bailey ;  '  Jupiter  Divum  Pater,'  says 
Virgil." 

"  Christ  the  Beautiful  One,  I  saw  in  my  dream,  said  if  I 
loved  I  should  know  God,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  Verily,  as  saith  the  holy  Apostle,  God  is  Love." 

"  Did  Love  make  me  ?  " 

"Mundum  fecit  Amor;  or  as  Jamblicus  has  it,  'God 
produced  matter  by  separating  materiality  from  essenti- 
ality,' or  as  Thomas  writes,  '  Creation  is  extension  pro- 
duced by  the  Divine  power.' " 

"  Is  God  Latin  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  Latin.     Deus  is  Latin  for  God." 

"I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it.  I  had  a  good  deal 
rather  go  to  Obed's. — His  mother  wants  to  see  you  ;  she 
told  me  to  ask  you  to  call  there,  the  next  time  you  came  to 
the  Pond." 

"  I  thought  she  did  not  like  m?." 

"  She  wants  to  see  you  very  n.uch." 

"  I  hope  she  has  no  designs  upon  me  ?  " 


THE   MASTER   AND    THE    WIDOW.  189 

"  I  don't  know. — It  is  something  she  wants." 

"  She  does'nt  contrive  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  I  guess  that  is  it.  Hash  said  Miss  Amy  was  going  to 
marry  you." 

"  What,  both  ?  You  are  a  ninny.  You  never  heard  of 
the  Knights  of  the  Forked  Order.  There  is  the  old  song,— 

'  Why,  my  good  father,  what  should  you  do  with  a  wife  1 
Would  you  be  crested  ?  Will  you  needs  thrust  your  head 
In  one  of  Vulcan's  helmets  ?  Will  you  perforce 
Wear  a  city  cap,  and  a  court  feather  1 ' 
Malum  est  mulier,  women  are  an  evil." 

Thus  talking,  they  approached  the  Widow's.  To  the 
road  up  which  they  went,  the  Master  gave  the  name  Via 
Salutaris,  the  stile  by  which  they  crossed  the  stump-fence 
into  the  herb-garden  or  front  yard,  he  called  Porta  Salutaris, 
as  the  Leech  herself  he  had  already  honored  by  the  title  of 
Diva  Salus. 

"  The  child  said  you  wanted  me,"  outspoke  the  Master, 
as  he  entered  the  house,  in  a  tone  that  savored  both  of 
irritated  dignity  and  sarcastic  inquisitiveness. 
•    "  Please  ma'am,"  interposed  Margaret,  both  to  explain 
and  appease,  "  he  says  he  won't  marry  you." 

"Mehercule!  What  are  you  about,  my  little  Beads- 
woman?" exclaimed  he,  endeavoring  to  silence  the  child. 
"  In  what  way,  capacity,  office,  character,  can  I  do  you  ser- 
vice, Mistress  Wright  ?  " 

"  Gummy  !  "  retorted  the  woman.  "  He  has  been  a 
talkin'  about  me,  and  a  runnin'  of  me  down.  I  wouldn't 
stoop  so  much  as  teu  pick  him  up.  I  wouldn't  crack  my 
finger  jints  for  him." 

"He  didn't  mean  you,"  replied  Margaret.      "He  said 
women  were  an  evil." 
-  «  Not  widows,  child,"  added  the  Master. 


190  MAHGARET. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman,  "  we  are  evil,  but  not  evils,  I 
trust.  No  offence,  I  hope,  sir,"  she  added,  softeni  >g  her 
cadence. 

"  None  in  the  world,"  answered  the  Master.  "  A  widow 
the  good  Fuller  enumerates  in  his  Holy  State." 

"  They  would  try  teu  make  us  think  we  are  sutthin  when 
we  are  nothin,  as  the  Parson  says,"  she  sighed. 

"  She  is  one,  as  that  old  writer  observes,  whose  head 
hath  been  cut  off,  yet  she  liveth,  and  hath  the  second  part 
of  virginity !  " 

"  The  Lord  be  praised,"  said  the  woman,  looking  meek, 
and  wiping  the  edge  of  the  table  with  a  corner  of  her  apron ; 
"  I  do  survive  as  good  a  husband  as  ever  woman  had." 

"  Her  grief  for  her  husband,"  continues  the  worthy  to 
whom  I  refer,  "  though  real,  is  moderate." 

"  I  am  a  widder,"  she  answered,  "  and  know  what  wid- 
ders  feel,  and  can  speak  from  experience." 

"  She  loveth  to  look  on  the  picture  of  her  husband,  in 
the  children  he  hath  left  her,  as  adds  our  reverend  Author," 
subjoined  the  Master,  turning  his  eye  towards  Obed,  who 
stood  in  the  door,  tugging  at  the  waistband  of  his  breeches. 

The  manjjer  of  the  Master  was  too  pointed  not  to  be  felt, 
and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  smarting  the  good  woman's 
sensibilities,  his  object  was  attained.  But  she,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  the  faculty,  by  a  smile  that  was  peculiar  to  her, 
of  disguising  her  emotions,  and  always  contrived  to  cover 
up  any  sense  of  humiliation  with  airs  of  victory.  These 
two  persons,  as  we  have  formerly  remarked,  did  not  like 
each  other  very  well,  and  in  whatever  respects  they  stood 
mutually  beholden,  it  was  the  object  of  each  to  make  it 
appear  that  favors  were  given  without  grace,  and  received 
without  gratitude.  We  will  not  follow  their  diplomatic 
banterings,  but  join  them  when  they  have  concluded  to  go 


THE    MASTER   AND   THE   WIDOW.  191 

peaceably  about  their  business.  The  Widow  had  invented 
a  new'medicine  that  would  cure  a  variety  of  diseases.  But 
she  wanted  a  scientific  name  for  it,  and  also  the  scientific 
names  of  its  several  virtues.  Her  own  vocabulary  would 
afford  an  abundance  of  common  appellations,  but  her  pur- 
poses aspired  to  something  higher,  and  the  Master's  aid  was 
brought  in  requisition.  The  Leech  sat  by  a  table^  holding 
a  pen,  with  a  pewter  inkstand  and  some  scraps  of  dingy 
paper  before  her,  and  endeavored  to  avail  herself  of  every 
suggestion  of  the  Master's  by  committing  it  to  writing. 

"  Widder  or  woman,"  said  she, "  I  knows  what  I  knows, 
and  I  know  what  is  in  this  ere  medicine,  how  many  yarbs, 
and  how  I  gathered  'em,  and  how  I  dried  'em,  and  how 
they  are  pounded  and  mixed,  and  I  cal'late  there  is  a 
vartue  in  every  drop  of  it.  It'll  kill  fevers,  dry  up  sores, 
stop  rumatiz,  drive  out  rattlesnake's  bite,  kill  worms — there 
an't  a  disorder  you  can  mention  that  won't  knock  under  to't." 

"  Except  one." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Cacoethes  Feminarum." 

'  "  Up-a-daisy !  What  a  real  soundin'  one !  Bile  me  up 
for  soap,  if  that  an't  a  pealer,"  exclaimed  the  delighted 
woman,  giving  a  kind  of  chuckling  grin  both  to  the  Master 
and  Margaret.  "  Deu  tell  us  what  it  is  ?  "  she  added.  "  Is 
it  round  hereabouts  much  ?  Has  any  died  on't  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Margaret,  "  it  is  something  about  women. 
Femina  is  Latin  for  woman." 

'<  0,  forever  !  I  dussay,"  rejoined  the  Widow,  "  it's 
some  perlite  matter,  and  he  would'nt  like  to  speak  it  out 
before  a  bo:ly.  How  vallible  is  sientifikals  and  larnin' ! 
Prehaps  he'd  tell  what  brings  it. — Lor  me,  what  a  booby  I 
be  teu  ask.  My  skull  for  a  trencher,  if  I  can't  cure  it,  if 
it's  as  bad  as  the  itch  itself." 


192  MARGARET. 

"  Humors — "  said  the  Master. 

"  Humors  !  Humors  in  wimmin — now  don't  say  no  more. 
I  knew  'twas  some  perlite  matter.  But  I  can  cure  it, 
only  if  I  had  the  name, — a  name  that  has  the  sientifikals 
and  larnin'  in't.  There  was  four  cases  to  Snake  Hill,  and 
I  got  two,  and  should  have  got  the  whole,  bein'  Dr.  Spoor 
hadn't  a  come  in,  with  his  larnin'  words,  and  that  took. 
They'll  all  go  teu  the  dogs  if  it  wasn't  for  a  little  schoolin'. 
If  he  would  only  be  so  kind  as  to  give  a  poor  woman  a 
name  for  her  medicine — but  I  won't  beg,  no  I  won't." 

"  Nominis  stat  umbra,"  said  the  Master  slowly  and 
solemnly,  while  with  assumed  gravity  and  inward  impa- 
tience he  had  been  listening  to  the  balderdash  of  the  woman. 

"  Is  that  it  ?  "  asked  she  hastily. 

"  Verily,"  he  replied,  "  Nominis  stat  umbra." 

""Nommernisstortumbug,"  said  the  Leech.  "  Why  now, 
I  vura,  I  could  a  thought  of  that  myself.  Obed  here,  see 
how  easy  'tis,  Nommernisstortumbug,  remember,  Obed,  and 
you'll  be  as  larnt  as  Miss  Molly.  Git  Molly  some  honey, 
prehaps  the  Master  would  like  teu  tas't  on't. — Dr.  Spoor 
may  hang  his  saddle-bags  in  his  garret.  There's  Deacon 
Penrose's  gaily  pots  and  spattles,  and  Nigger  Tony's 
prinked  up  Patents,  I  an't  afeered  of  none  of  'em,  no,  nor 
of  old  Death  himself.  He  daren't  show  his  white  jaws 
where  I  am.  A  box  of  Nommernisstortumbug  would  give 
the  saucy  rascal  an  ague  fit,  and  he'd  be  glad  teu  put  on 
some  skin  and  flesh,  and  dress  up  like  a  man,  and  not  be 
round  skeerin'  people  so  with  his  old  bones.  There's 
Parkin's  Pints  has  been  makin'  a  great  pudder  over  to 
England,  but  they  an't  knee  high  to  a  toad  to't.  The  thing 
of  it  is,  people  has  got  teu  be  so  pesky  proud  and  perlite, 
they  won't  look  at  a  cure  unless  it's  a  dreadful  perlite  one. 
They'd  all  die  every  one  on  'em,  before  they'd  touch  the 


THE   NOMMERNISSTORTUMBCG.  193 

Widder's  stuff,  as  they  call  it ;  but  the  Nommernisstortum- 
bug  they'll  swallow  box  and  all,  and  git  well  teu,  ha,  ha !  I 
knows  what  I  knows,  I've  seen  how  the  cat  has  been  jump- 
in'.  The  ministers  try  to  save  their  souls,  and  have  to  preach 
sich  things  as  '11  take  ;  I  mean  to  save  their  bodies,  and  I 
must  fix  it  so  it  '11  take  ; — I  han't  a  grain  of  interest  in  the 
matter,  not  I.  As  soon  as  Obed  gits  a  leetle  older,  I  mean 
teu  send  him  teu  Kidderminster,  and  Hartford,  and  Boston, 
and  all  about  the  country,  with  my  medicines,  and  there 
won't  be  a  spice  of  disease  left.  The  Pints  is  a  pound 
sterling,  and  I  shall  put  ray  Nommernisstortumbug  right 
up,  and  when  you  ax  a  good  round  price,  it  means  a  good 
round  cure,  and  folks  that  is  any  body  knows  it." 

The  Master,  secretly  amused  at  the  Widow's  compla- 
cency, was  not  disposed  to  interrupt  her,  at  least  so  long  as 
he  ate  of  her  clear  white  honey,  which  Obed  supplied  in 
liberal  quantities,  and  of  which  he  was  thoroughly  fond. 
Nay,  he  went  farther,  and  at  her  request  wrote  down  for 
her  in  scientific  terms  the  several  and  various  properties 
of  her  nostrum,  which  she  described  to  him.  The  lady's 
bad  feelings  towards  the  Master  were  likewise  so  melted 
down  in  the  thought  of  her  good  fortune  as  for  the  moment 
to  throw  her  off  her  guard,  and  she  forgot  her  usual  self- 
possessed  spitefulness.  Their  interview  was  in  fair  prog- 
ress towards  an  amicable  termination,  when  the  Master 
happened  to  say  he  wanted  Margaret  to  do  a  service  for 
him  that  day.  But  the  Widow  meanwhile  had  been  con- 
cocting plans  of  her  own  that  included  the  aid  of  the  child. 
Difficulties  broke  out  anew,  there  were  taunts  on  the  one 
side  and  objurgations  on  the  other.  How  far  the  matter 
may  have  been  carried  we  know  not,  when  Margaret  took 
the  decision  into  her  own  hands  by  running  off  and  escaping 
into  the  street.  Both  started  for  her,  and  came  to  the  stile 

VOL.  i.  17 


194  MARGARET. 

at  the  same  moment.  Between  the  narrow  and  tangled 
roots  of  which  the  fence  was  made  they  were  both  wedged, 
and  as  it  were  locked  in  a  common  embrace.  It  was  a 
sorry  sight  to  behold.  They  might  have  torn  each  other's 
eyes  out.  Obed  seized  an  arm  of  his  mother  to  withdraw 
her  on  one  side,  and  Margaret  sought  to  perform  a  like 
office  for  the  Master  on  the  other.  But  the  Widow  had  no 
notion  of  being  extricated.  Obed  shed  tears  of  filial  alarm. 
Margaret  shouted  with  untamed  glee.  The  parties,  finding 
escape  and  victory  alike  impossible,  had  to  beat  a  truce. 

It  was  agreed  Margaret  should  be  at  the  service  of  the 
Master  that  day,  and  assist  the  Widow  some  other. 

Her  old  teacher  sometimes  employed  his  little  pupil  to 
scour  the  woods  in  search  of  wild  flowers,  a  pursuit  for 
which  she  was  fitted  both  by  her  own  lightness  of  heart  and 
foot,  and  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  region.  He  in- 
structed her  to  preserve  specimens  of  almost  all  kinds  she 
encountered,  in  the  expectation,  partly,  of  discovering  some 
new  variety.  He  furnished  her  with  a  tin  box  to  keep 
the  flowers  fresh  and  sound.  Providing  herself  with 
a  lunch  of  bread  and  cheese,  she  took  a  familiar  route 
through  the  Mowing  into  the  rich  birch  and  walnut  woods 
lying  towards  the  village.  Bull  having  gone  off  with  Hash 
in  the  morning,  she  was  obliged  to  do  without  the  usual 
companion  of  her  rambles. 

The  sun  shone  warm  and  inviting,  and  the  air  felt  soft 
and  exhilarating.  The  olive-backs  trolled  and  chanted 
among  the  trees,  and  in  the  shadowy  green  boughs  in- 
numerable and  invisible  creepers  and  warblers  sang  out  a 
sweet  welcome  wherever  her  footstep  was  heard.  She 
found  varieties  of  fungus,  yellow,  scarlet,  and  blood-colored  , 
which  she  tore  from  the  sides  of  trees,  from  stumps  and 
rails.  She  gathered  the  wild  columbine,  snakeroot,  red 


THE    SUGAR    CAMP.  195 

cohosh,  purple  bush-trefoil,  flaxbell-flower,  the  beautiful  pur- 
ple orchis,  and  dodder,  that  gay  yellow-liveried  parasite ; 
and  other  flowers,  now  so  well  known  and  readily  dis- 
tinguished by  every  lover  of  Nature,  but  which,  at  the 
period  of  our  Memoir,  had  not  been  fully  arranged  in  the 
New  England  Flora. 

Turning  to  the  right,  or  towards  South,  she  came  to  a  spot 
of  almost  solid  rocks,  through  the  hard  chinks  and  seams  of 
which  great  trees  had  bored  their  way  up,  to  spread  their 
trunks  and  branches  in  the  light  and  air.  This  place  was 
set  down  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  district  as  the  Maples,  or 
Sugar  Camp,  from  its  growth  of  sugar  maple-trees.  Over 
these  stones  she  stepped  as  on  a  pavement,  or  leaped  from 
one  to  another  as  one  does  on  the  foam-crags  at  Nahant. 
In  the  dark  crevices  she  found  bright  green  bunches  of  the 
devil's  ear-seed  and  the  curious  mushroom-like  tobacco- 
pipe  ;  all  about  her,  on  the  rocks,  the  bright  green  poly- 
pods  and  maiden's  hair  waved  in  silent  feathery  harmony 
with  the  round  dots  of  quavering  sunlight,  that  descended 
through  the  trees — little  daughters  of  the  sun  dallying  with 
these  children  of  the  earth,  and  like  spiders,  spinning  a  thin 
beautiful  tissue  about  them,  which  was  destroyed  every 
night  and  patiently  renewed  every  morning.  Here  also  she 
found  beds  of  shining  white,  and  rose-colored  crystal  quartz 
stones,  all  draped  and  ruffled  with  green  moss.  On  the  flat 
top  of  a  large  bowlder,  she  saw  growing  a  parcel  of  small 
polypods  in  a  circle,  like  a  crown  on  a  king's  head.  Up  this 
she  climbed,  and  sitting  among  the  ferns,  she  sang  snatches 
from  old  songs  she  had  learned  : — 

"There  were  three  jovial  Welchmen 

As  I  have  heard  them  say, 
And  they  would  go  a-hunting 
Upon  St.  David's  Day." 


190  MARGARET. 

Sorting  out  the  fairest  of  the  fronds,  she  still  sung, — 
"Robin  and  Richard  were  two  pretty  men, 
They  la:d  in  bed  till  the  clock  struck  ten  ; 
Then  up  starts  Robin,  and  looks  at  the  sky, 
O,  Brother  Richard,  the  sun's  very  high," — 

and  down  she  leaped.  A  humming-bird  that  she  had  seen, 
or  fancied  she  saw,  early  in  the  morning  at  her  scarlet 
bean  flowers,  shot  by  like  an  arrow.  She  would  follow  it. 
On  she  went  till  she  found  its  nest  in  a  tree,  and  climbing 
a  rock  and  bending  down  the  branch,  she  could  look  into 
it.  In  a  pretty  cradle  of  moss  lined  with  mullein  down  lay 
two  baby  eggs.  But  the  watchful  parents  did  not  know 
who  it  was  that  was  looking  in  upon  them,  and  seemed 
afraid  she  would  hurt  the  eggs.  She  would'nt  for  the 
world.  They  ruffled  their  golden-green  and  pretty  tabby 
feathers  at  her,  and  almost  flew  into  her  eyes.  She  saw 
how  mistaken  they  were,  and  took  off  her  hat  that  they 
might  see  her  face  and  curly  hair,  and  thai  it  was 
really  the  little  Margaret  whom  they  had  seen  at  Pluck's. 
When  she  did  this,  and  spoke  to  them,  the  excited 
creatures  saw  at  once  how  it  was,  and  seemed  to  be 
mightily  ashamed  of  themselves,  especially  when  they  re- 
membered how  often  they  had  got  honey  out  of  the  flowers 
she  kept  growing  for  them.  One  of  them  leaped  into  the 
nest  where  she  sat  looking  at  Margaret,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  I'm  glad  you  called  ;  "  the  other  hummed  a  pleasant  little 
song  to  her,  flying  about  her  head. 

Leaving  the  birds,  she  crossed  the  road  and  entered  the 
Pines,  where  Solomon  Smith  took  her  a  few  nights  before. 
Here  under  the  trees  she  found  a  crowd  of  persons,  men 
and  women,  boys  and  girls,  who  seemed  bent  on  some 
mysterious  thing,  which  they  pursued  with  an  unwonted 
stillness.  Among  them  was  a  man,  whom  she  knew  to  be 


THE    GOLD-HUNTERS.  197 

Zenaa  Joy,  pacing  to  and  fro  with  a  drawn  sword,  and 
preventing  the  approach  of  spectators. 

Let  us  explain,  what  Margaret  herself  did  not  know, 
though  vitally  connected  with  the  whole  affair,  that  through 
the  hocus  pocus  of  the  Fortune-teller  and  divination  of  the 
child,  young  Smith  of  No.  4  had  discovered  what  he  sup- 
posed to  be  a  deposit  of  gold. 

Having  canvassed  the  ground  privately  to  none  effect,  he 
•was  obliged  to  communicate  the  secret  while  he  invoked 
the  aid  of  his  neighbors. 

Several  men  had  been  digging  now  for  a  week,  day  and 
night.  They  had  excavated  the  ground  to  the  depth  of 
nearly  thirty  feet.  A  prodigious  heap  of  earth  and  stones 
had  been  cast  up,  and  great  trees  undermined.  When 
Margaret  approached  near  enough  to  look  in,  she  saw  the 
men,  noiseless  and  earnest,  at  work  with  might  and  main. 
Among  them  were  her  brother  Hash,  and  others,  whom 
she  knew  to  ba  No.  4's  and  Breaknecks.  It  was  a 
received  notion  of  the  times  that  if  any  spoke  during  the 
operation  the  charm  was  destroyed,  hence  the  palpitating 
silence  Margaret  observed,  and  for  this  purpose  also  a 
sentry  had  been  appointed  to  keep  order  among  the 
people. 

Margaret  seeing  Hash,  was  inconsiderate  enough  to 
speak  to  him  and  ask  where  Bull  was.  For  this,  Zenas 
Joy,  since  words  were  out  of  the  question,  administered  a 
corporeal  admonition  with  his  sword  flatlong,  and  Damaris 
Smith,  with  other  girls,  seconding  his  endeavors,  fairly 
drubbed  the  child  from  the  place.  She  went  off,  singing  as 
she  went, — 

"Little  General  Monk 
Sat  upon  a  trunk 

Eating  a  crust  of  bread ; 
17*  • 


198  MARGARET. 

There  fell  a  hot  coal 

And  burnt  in  his  clothes  a  hole, 

Now  little  General  Monk  is  dead  ;  — 
Keep  always  from  the  fire, 
Keep  always  from  the  fire  " 

She  had  not  gone  far  when  Bull,  who  had  been  asleep 
under  a  rock,  awakened  by  the  familiar  voice  of  his  mis- 
tress, came  leaping  out  to  her,  and  went  with  her. 

In  the  Pines  she  gathered  such  flowers  as  for  the  most 
part  are  proper  to  that  description  of  soil ; — the  sleepy 
catchfly  that  is  wide  awake  nights,  pennyroyal  with  its 
purple  whorls,  yellow  bent  spikes  of  the  gromwell,  the 
sweet-scented  pettymorrel,  the  painted  cup  with  its  scarlet- 
tipped  bractes,  peach-perfumed  waxen  ladies'  tresses,  nod- 
ding purple  gay  feather ;  she  climbed  after  the  hairy  honey- 
suckle, and  the  pretty  purple  ground-nut,  which,  despising 
its  name,  overmounts  the  tallest  shrubs.  She  encountered 
in  her  way  a  "  clearing,"  now  grown  up  to  elecampane  and 
wild  lettuce.  She  forced  herself  through  a  thicket  of 
brakes,  blackberries  and  thistles,  and  clambered  upon  a 
fence,  where  she  sat  to  look  at  the  tall  lettuces  that  shot  up 
like  trees  above  the  other  weeds.  The  seeds  disengaging 
themselves  from  the  lofty  capsule  and  spreading  out  their 
innumerable  long  white  filaments,  but  still  hovering  about 
the  parent  stalk,  gave  the  plant  an  appearance  as  if  it  had 
instantaneously  put  forth  in  huge  gossamer  inflorescence. 
Then  a  slight  agitation  of  wind  would  disperse  these  flowers 
or  egrets  and  send  them  flying  through  the  air,  like  globes 
of  silver  light,  or  little  burred  fairies,  some  of  them  vanish- 
ing in  the  white  atmosphere,  others  brought  into  stronger 
relief  as  they  floated  towards  the  green  woods  beyond. 
Descending  towards  the  Brook,  she  gathered  the  beautiful 
yellow  droops  of  the  barberry -bush  and  flowers  of  the  sweet- 


MARGARET    AT    MILL    BROOK.  199 

briar.  She  came  to  the  stream,  Mill  Brook,  that  flowed  out 
from  her  Pond,  where  grew  the  virgin's  bower  or  travel- 
ler's joy,  bedstraw,  the  nighshades,  the  beautiful  cardinal 
flower  or  eye-bright  just  budding,  and  side-saddle  flowers. 

On  the  grassy  bank,  with  the  water  running  at  her  feet, 
she  sat  down  and  prepared  for  dinner  ;  which  consisted  of 
bread  and  cheese,  and  boxberries.  She  kneeled  on  a  stone 
and  drank  from  the  swift  sparkling  waters.  It  was  now 
past  noon ;  her  box  was  full,  and  quite  heavy  enough  for 
one  so  young  to  carry,  and  she  might  have  returned  home. 
The  woods  beyond,  or  to  the  west  of  the  Brook,  were  close 
and  dark  ;  hardly  did  the  sun  strike  through  them,  but  the 
birds  were  noisy  there,  and  she  must  perforce  enter  them, 
as  a  cavern,  and  walk  on  the  smooth  leaf-strewed  floor. 
The  ground  sloped  up,  then  rounded  over  into  a  broad  inter- 
val below,  down  into  which  she  went.  Here  a  giant  forest 
extended  itself  interminably,  and  she  seemed  to  have  come 
into  a  new  world  of  nature.  Huge  old  trees  looked  as  if 
they  grew  up  to  the  skies.  Birds  that  she  had  never 
seen  before,  or  heard  so  near  at  hand,  hooted  and  screamed 
among  the  branches.  A  dark  falcon  pierced  the  air  like  an 
arrow,  in  pursuit  of  a  partridge,  just  before  her  eyes.  An 
eagle  stood  out  against  the  sky  on  the  blasted  peak  of  a 
great  oak  ;  a  hen-harrier  bore  in  his  talons  a  chicken  to  his 
young  ;  large  owls  in  hooded  velvety  sweep  flew  by  her ; 
squirrels  chattered  and  scolded  one  another ;  large  snake- 
headed  wild  turkeys  strutted  and  gobbled  in  the  under- 
brush ;  a  wildcat  sprang  across  her  path,  and  she  clung 
closer  to  her  dog. 

Here  beneath  a  large  pine  she  stopped  to  rest ;  the  birds 
fluttered,  rioted  and  shrieked  in  strange  confusion,  and  she 
entertained  herself  watching  their  motion  and  noise.  The 
low  and  softened  notes  of  distant  thunder  she  heard,  and 


200  MAKGAKKT. 

felt  no  alarm  ;  or  she  may  have  taken  it  for  the  drum-like 
sound  of  partridges  that  so  nearly  resemble  thunder,  and 
which  she  had  often  heard,  and  thought  no  more  of  the 
matter.  Had  she  been  on  the  tops  of  the  trees  where  the 
birds  were,  she  would  have  seen  a  storm  gathering,  cloud 
engendering  cloud,  peaks  swelling  into  mountains,  the  en- 
tire mass  sagging  with  darkness,  and  dilating  in  horror. 
The  air  seemed  to  hold  in  its  breath,  and  in  the  hushed 
silence  she  sat,  looking  at  the  rabbits  and  woodchucks  that 
scampered  across  the  dry  leaves,  and  dived  into  their  bur- 
rows. She  broke  into  a  loud  laugh  when  a  small  brown- 
snouted  marten  gave  vigorous  chase  to  the  bolt-upright, 
bushy,  black-tipped  tail  of  a  red  fox,  up  a  tree,  and  clapped 
her  hands  and  stamped  her  feet,  to  cheer  the  little  crea- 
ture on.  She  sung  out,  in  gayest  participation  of  the  scene, 
a  Mother  Goose  Melody,  in  a  Latin  version  the  Master  had 
given  her : — 

"Hei  didulum!  atque  itcrum  didulum !  fclisque  fidesque, 

Vacca  super  lunse  cornua  prosiluit : 

Ncscio  qua  catulus  risit  dulcedine  ludi ; 

Abstulit  et  turpi  cochleare  fuga." 

While  she  was  singing,  hailstones  bounded  at  her  feet, 
and  the  wind  shook  the  tops  of  the  trees.  Suddenly  it  grew 
dark ;  then,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  storm  broke 
over  her, — howling,  crashing,  dizzying  it  came.  The 
whole  forest  seemed  .to  have  given  way — to  have  been 
felled  by  the  stroke  of  some  Demiurgic  Fury,  or  to  have 
prostrated  itself  as  the  Almighty  passed  by.  The  great 
pine,  at  the  root  of  which  she  was  sitting,  was  broken  off 
just  above  her  head,  and  blown  to  the  ground ;  and  by  its 
fall,  enclosing  her  in  an  impenetrable  sconce,  under  which 
alone  in  the  general  wreck  could  her  life  have  been  pre- 
served. 


THE    TORNADO.  201 

A  whirlwind  or  tornado,  such  as  sometimes  visits  New 
England,  had  befallen  the  region.  It  leaped  like  a  maniac 
from  the  skies,  and  with  a  breadth  of  some  twenty  rods  and 
and  an  extent  of  four  or  five  miles,  swept  every  thing  in  its 
course ;  the  forest  was  mown  down  before  it,  orchard-trees 
were  torn  up  by  the  roots,  large  rocks  unearthed,  chimneys 
dashed  to  the  ground,  roofs  of  houses  whirled  into  the  air, 
fences  scattered,  cows  lifted  from  their  feet,  sheep  killed, 
the  strongest  fabrics  of  man  and  nature  driven  about  like 
stubble.  In  bush  and  settlement,  upland  and  interval,  was 
its  havoc  alike  fearful. 

When  Margaret  recovered  from  the  alarm  of  the  moment, 
her  first  impulse  was  to  call  for  the  dog ; — but  he,  already 
at  a  distance  whither  the  eagerness  of  chase  had  carried 
him,  overtaken  by  the  devastation  of  the  storm,  loosing  all 
sense  of  duty,  wounded  and  frightened,  fled  away.  She 
herself  was  covered  with  leaves,  bark,  hailstones  and  sand ; 
blood  flowed  from  her  arm,  and  one  of  her  legs  was  bruised. 
A  stick  had  penetrated  her  box  of  flowers  and  pinned  it  to 
the  earth.  The  sun  came  out  as  the  storm  went  by;  but 
above  her  the  "trees  with  their  branches  piled  one  upon 
another;  what  indeed  had  been  her  salvation,  now  roofed 
her  in  solitude  and  darkness.  , 

Making  essays  at  self-deliverance,  she  found  every  out- 
let closed  or  distorted.  Trees  cemented  with  shrubs  over- 
laid her  path,  while  deep  chasms  formed  by  upturned  roots 
opened  beneath  her.  When  at  last  she  reached  the  edge 
of  the  ruins  and  stood  in  the  open  woods,  she  knew  not 
where  she  was  or  in  what  direction  lay  her  home.  No 
cart-tracks  or  cow-paths,  no  spots  or  blazes  on  the  trees 
were  to  be  seen.  The  sun  was  setting,  but  its  light  was 
hidden  by  the  still  interminable  foliage.  Every  step  led 
her  deeper  into  the  wood  and  farther  from  the  Pond.  She 


202  MAKGAKET. 

mounted  knolls,  but  could   discern  nothing ;    she  crossed 
brooks  and  explored  ravines,  to  no  purpose. 

Despairing,  exhausted,  her  sores  actively  painful,  she 
sank  down  under  the  projecting  edge  of  a  large  rock.  She 
had  not  been  sitting  long  when  she  saw  approaching  the 
same  place  a  large,  shaggy,  black  bear,  with  three  cubs. 
The  bear  looked  at  Margaret  and  Margaret  looked  at  the 
bear.  "  It  is  very  strange,"  the  old  bear  seemed  to  say  ; 
the  little  bears  frisked  about  as  if  they  thought  it  was  fun- 
ny to  see  a  little  two-legged  child  in  their  bed.  Margaret 
sat  very  still  and  said  -nothing,  only  she  wished  she  could 
tell  the  bears  how  tired  she  was,  and  hoped  they  would'nt 
take  offence  at  her  being  there.  The  big  bear  came  close 
to  her,  and,  as  bears  are  wont  to  do,  smelt  of  her  hand,  and 
even  licked  the  blood  that  flowed  from  her  arm  ;  and  Mar- 
garet went  so  far  as  to  stroke  the  long  brown  nose  of  the 
bear,  and  was  no  more  afraid  than  if  it  had  been  her  own 
Bull.  The  motherly  beast  seemed  to  be  thinking,  "  How 
bad  I  should  feel  if  it  had  been  one  of  the  cubs  that  was 
hurt!"  Then  she  lay  on  the  ground,  and  the  little  bears 
knew  'supper  was  ready.  Now  the  old  bear  saw  that 
Margaret  was  tired  and  bruised,  and  must  have  felt  that 
she  was  hungry  also,  for  she  gave  a  sort  of  wink  with 
her  eyes  that  seemed  to  say,  "  Won't  you  take  a  seat 
at  our  table,  too  ?  It  is  the  best  I  can  set,  for,  as  you 
see,  I  hav'nt  any  hands,  and  we  can't  use  spoons."  It 
would  have  been  ungrateful  in  Margaret  not  to  accept 
so  kind  an  invitation.  Finally  the  good  dam  and  her  young 
and  Margaret  all  cuddled  down  together,  and  were  soon 
asleep ;  only  one  of  the  little  bears  could  not  get  to  sleep 
so  easy  for  thinking  what  a  strange  bedfellow  he  had,  and 
he  got  up  two  or  three  times  just  to  look  at  the  child. 
Meanwhile  the  rumor  of  the  tornado  had  reached  the 


CHILION'S  DISTRESS.  203 

Pond,  and  the  family  were  not  a  little  excited.  Hash  had 
not  returned;  after  finishing  his  bout  in  the  Pines  he  went 
with  his  comrades  to  see  the  results  of  the  wind  at  No.  4, 
and  have  a  drunken  carouse.  The  Widow  and  her  son 
came  down  both  to  seek  news  of  the  storm,  and  inflame  the 
impression  of  its  terror.  The  ruddy  and  wanton  face  of 
Pluck  became  pale  and  thoughtful.  The  dry  and  dark 
features  of  his  wife  were  even  lighted  up  with  alarm.  Chil- 
ion,  who  had  been  to  the  village,  when  he  learned  the 
absence  of  his  sister,  seemed  smitten  by  some  violent  in- 
ternal blow.  He  paced  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  house,  lis- 
tening to  every  sound,  and  starting  at  every  leaf.  The 
intercourse  of  the  family,  if  not  positively  rude  and  rough, 
ordinarily  affected  a  degree  of  lightness  and  triviality,  and 
unaccustomed  to  the  expression  of  deeper  sentiments,  if 
they  had  any,  now  in  the  moment  of  their  calamity  they 
said  but  little.  Yet  they  watched  one  another's  looks  and 
slightest  words  with  an  attention  and  reverence  which 
showed  how  strongly  interested  they  were  in  one  an- 
other's feelings,  as  well  as  in  the  common  object  of  their 
thoughts.  They  watched  and  waited  and  waited  and 
watched,  uncertain  what  course  the  child  had  taken,  not 
knowing  where  to  go  for  her,  and  hoping  each  successive 
instant  she  might  appear  from  some  quarter  of  the  woods. 

It  was  now  near  sunset.  Obed  was  despatched  in  the 
direction  of  the  dam  at  the  north  end  of  the  Pond  ;  Pluck 
went  over  into  the  Maples  ;  Chilion,  seizing  the  tin  dinner- 
horn,  ran  to  the  top  of  Indian's  Head,  and  blew  a  loud 
blast.  No  response  came  from  the  far  glimmering,  pas- 
sionate sound  but  its  own  empty  echo.  Descending,  he  be- 
held Bull  returning  alone,  lame  and  bloody.  The  dog  was  at 
once  questioned,  and  as  if  convicted  of  weakness  and  infideli- 
ty,to  his  mistress,  or  with  that  native  instinct  which  is  proper 


204  MARGARET. 

to  the  animal,  he  pulled  at  Chilion's  trousers  and  made  as  if 
he  would  have  him  follow  him. 

Chilion  seized  the  hint,  and  went  rapidly  where  his  guide 
would  lead.  Soon  striking  the  track  of  the  child,  the 
dog  conducted  the  way  along  which  Margaret  had  gone 
in  the  morning.  They  reached  the  gold-digging,  where 
deluded  men,  under  the  light  of  pine-knots,  sweltered  in 
silence.  They  crossed  the  Brook  and  entered  the  thick 
woods.  It  was  now  night  and  dark,  but  Chilion  was 
familiar  with  every  part  of  the  forest,  and  had  often  tra- 
versed it  in  the  night.  They  followed  the  footsteps  of  the 
child  till  they  came  to  the  line  of  the  storm.  Here  pros- 
trate trees,  upturned  roots,  vines  and  brush,  knitted  and 
riven  together,  broke  the  scent  and  checked  advance. — 
The  dog  himself  was  baffled.  He  ran  alongside  the  ruins, 
tried  every  avenue,  wound  himself  in  among  the  compressed 
and  perplexed  fissures  of  the  mass,  but  failing  to  recover 
the  path,  he  returned  to  his  master,  and  set  up  a  loud  howl. 
What  could  Chilion  do  ?  He  called  his  sister's  name  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  he  rung  out  the  farthest  reaching  alarm- 
cry.  He  then  repeated  the  attempt  of  his  dog  to  gain  an 
entrance.  He  crept  under  trunks  of  trees,  tore  a  passage 
through  brambles,  and  seemed  almost  to  gnaw  his  way  as 
he  crawled  along  the  encumbered  earth.  At  intervals 
he  gasped, — "  She's  dead,  she's  dead,  she's  crushed  under 
a  tree."  Such  was  the  dreadful  reflection  that  began  to  tide 
in  upon  his  heart,  and  form  itself  in  distincter  imagery  to 
his  thoughts.  With  renewed  energy  he  explored  with  his 
fingers  every  vacant  spot,  trembling  indeed  lest  he  should 
encounter  the  dead  and  mangled  form.  A  large  limb,  bro- 
ken off  in  the  storm,  which  he  was  endeavoring  to  remove, 
fell  upon  his  foot,  bruising  the  flesh,  and  nearly  severing  the 
cords ;  but  of  this  he  took  no  notice.  In  uttermost  despair 


MOVEMENT    OP    THE    PEOPLE.  205 

he  exclaimed,  "  She  is  dead,  she  is  dead ! "  He,  the  moody 
and  the  silent,  gave  utterance  to  the  wildest  language  of  dis- 
tress. That  deaf  and  dismal  darkness  was  pierced  with  an 
unwonted  cry.  "O,  my  sister  !  my  dear,  dear  sister,  sweet 
Margery,  dead,  dead  ! "  He  fell  with  his  face  to  the  earth, 
his  spirit  writhed  as  with  some  most  exquisite  torture ; 
from  his  stimulated  frame  dropped  hot  sweat.  "  O  Jesus, 
her  Beautiful  One,  how  couldst  thou  let  the  good  Margery 
die  so  ?  My  music  shall  die,  my  hopes  shall  die,  all  things 
die  ;  sweet  sister  Margery,  your  poor  brother  Chilion  will 
die  too."  His  frenzy  seemed  to  assume  the  majesty  of  in- 
spiration, as  in  simplicity  of  earnest  love  he  gave  vent  to 
his  emotions. 

Pain  and  weariness,  along  with  the  want  of  success, 
served  to  divest  him  of  the  idea  of  finding  her  that  night. 
Extricating  himself  from  the  forest-wreck,  yet  as  it  were 
plunging  into  deeper  despair,  he  returned  home.  His 
father  and  mother  were  still  up,  restless  and  anxious.  His 
foot  was  immediately  dressed  and  bandaged,  and  Chilion  was 
obliged  to  be  laid  in  his  parents'  bed.  Obed  was  also  there, 
strongly  moved  by  an  unaffected  solicitude,  who,  as  soon  as 
it  was  light,  was  sent  to  the  village  to  have  the  bell  rung 
and  the  town  alarmed ;  Pluck  himself  immediately  went 
down  to  No.  4.  In  the  course  of  two  or  three  hours  the 
entire  population  of  Livingston  received  the  exciting  and 
piteous  intelligence  of  "  A  child  lost  in  the  woods,  and  sup- 
posed to  have  perished  in  the  storm  !  "  At  No.  4,  Hash 
was  aroused  from  his  boosy  stupor  to  something  like  frater- 
nal activity,  and  the  four  families  composing  the  hamlet 
started  for  the  scene  of  the  disaster.  The  village  was 
deeply  and  extensively  moved.  .  Philip  Davis,  the  sexton, 
flew  to  the  Meeting-house  and  rang  a  loud  and  long  fire- 

VOL.  i.  18 


206  MARGARET. 

alarm.  The  people  flocked  about  Obed  to  learn  the  news, 
and  hurried  away  to  render  succor. 

The  Master,  who  was  on  his  way  to  the  barber's,  hearing 
of  the  sad  probability  respecting  his  little  pupil,  was  like 
one  beside  himself;  perfectly  bemazed,  he  made  three 
complete  circles  in  the  road,  drew  out  his  red  bandanna 
handkerchief,  poised  his  golden-headed  cane  in  the  air, 
then  leaped  forward,  like  a  hound  upon  its  prey,  run  down 
the  South  Street,  and  disappeared  at  full  speed  up  the 
Brandon  road.  Judge  Morgridge  and  his  black  man 
Caesar  rode  off  in  a  swift  gallop,  on  two  horses.  Men  with 
ox-carts,  going  into  the  Meadows,  threw  out  their  scythes, 
rakes,  pitchforks,  or  whatever  they  had,  wheeled  about, 
took  in  a  load  of  old  men,  women  and  children,  and  drove 
for  No.  4.  Deacon  Penrose  shut  up  his  store,  Tony  his 
shop  ;  Mr.  Gisborne  the  joiner,  and  Mr.  Cutts  the  shoe- 
maker, left  their  benches.  Lawyer  Beach,  Esq.  Weeks 
and  Dr.  Spoor  started  off  with  axes  and  billhooks.  Boys 
seized  tin  dinner-horns  and  ran.  There  surged  up  the 
Brandon  road,  like  a  sea,  a  great  multitude  of  people.  The 
Pottles  and  Dunlaps,  from  Snake  Hill  and  Five-mile-lot, 
came  down  on  foaming  horses.  A  messenger  had  been 
posted  to  Breakneck,  and  those  families,  the  Joys,  Whis- 
tons  and  Orffs,  turned  out.  Of  all  persons  engaged  in  the 
hunt,  were  absent  the  two  most  interested  in  it,  Chilion  and 
Bull,  whose  wounded  and  stiffened  limbs  rendered  it  im- 
possible for  them  to  leave  the  house.  Dr.  Spoor  rode  up 
to  see  Chilion,  and  little  Isabel  Weeks  and  her  sister 
Helen  brought  him  cordials  and  salves.  It  was  his  irre- 
pressible conviction  that  Margaret  was  dead,  and  he  was 
slow  to  be  comforted. 

Successively,  as  the  several  parties  arrived  at  the  spot 


THE    SEAKCH.  207 

in  the  woods  where  Chilion  had  gone  the  night  before,  they 
set  themselves  at  work  clearing  away  the  trees.  It  was  the 
universal  impression  that  the  child  lay  buried  somewhere 
under  the  windfall.  Capt.  Eliashib  Tuck  and  Anthony 
Wharfield,  the  Quaker,  took  the  superintendence  of  opera- 
tions. The  melancholy  silence  of  the  workmen  singularly 
contrasted  with  the  vehemence  of  their  action.  The  forest 
resounded  with  the  blows  of  axes  and  the  crashing  of  limbs. 
Broad  openings  were  made  in  the  compact  mass.  Little 
boys  crept  under  the  close-welded  vines  prying  about  in 
anticipation  of  the  men.  Beulah  Ann  Orff  and  Grace  Joy 
helped  one  another  bear  the  heavy  branches.  Abel  Wilcox 
and  Martha  Madeline  Gisborne  lifted  large  billets  of  wood. 
Deacon  Penrose  executed  lustily  with  a  billhook.  Pluck, 
Shocks  the  Jailor,  Lawyer  Beach  and  Sibyl  Radney,  rolled 
over  a  great  tree,  roots  and  all,  while  Judge  Morgridge 
and  Isaac  Tapley  stood  ready  to  dig  into  the  mound  of 
earth  and  stones,  which  the  roots  had  formed  in  their 
sudden  uprise.  Zenas  Joy  and  Seth  Penrose  rode  off  to  get 
refreshments.  The  Master  alternately  worked  with  the 
others  and  sat  on  a  stump,  covering  his  eyes  with  his 
hands,  foreboding  each  moment  some  dreadful  sight.  In 
the  midst  of  all,  kneeling  on  the  damp  leaves  in  the  open 
wood,  might  be  heard  the  voice  of  the  Camp-preacher,  in 
loud  and  importunate  prayer,  beseeching  the  Most  High 
for  the  life  of  the  child,  and  for  submission  to  a  dreadful 
peradventure. 

To  return  to  Margaret.  The  night  had  passed  quietly, 
and  she  awoke  refreshed,  though  stiffened  in  every  joint 
She  tried,  but  could  not  walk.  She  cried  for  help,  but  she 
had  wandered  far  from  any  neighborhood  and  beyond  the 
ordinary  haunts  of  men.  Dreary  feelings  and  oppressive 
thoughts  came  over  her,  and  tears  flowed  freely,  which  the 


208  MAKOAKKT. 

tender-hearted  bear  wiped  away  with  her  tongue.  Then 
the  three  little  bears  began  to  play  with  their  dam,  one 
climbed  up  her  back,  another  hugged  her  fore  leg,  and  the 
third  made  as  if  it  would  tweak  her  nose,  and  the  one  upon 
her  back  bandied  paws  with  the  one  that  was  hugging  the 
leg,  like  kittens  ;  and  Margaret  was  forced  to  be  amused 
despite  herself.  Then  she  fell  to  singing,  and  as  she  sang, 
the  animals  seemed  to  be  moved  thereby,  and  the  old  bear 
and  the  three  little  bears  seated  themselves  on  their 
haunches  all  in  a  row  before  her,  to  hear  her  ;  and  they 
were  so  much  pleased  with  the  performance  that  neither 
of  them  spoke  a  word  during  the  whole  of  it. 

Where  the  people  were  at  work,  they  canvassed  a  pretty 
large  area.  One  of  the  boys,  Isaiah  Hatch,  who  was  bur- 
rowing mole-like  under  the  ruins,  raised  an  exclamation 
that  brought  several  to  the  spot.  He  had  discovered  the 
flower-box,  which  was  at  once  recognized  as  having  been 
carried  by  the  child.  The  little  utensil,  battened  and  per- 
forated, was  borne  to  the  Master,  who  clutched  it  with  a 
mixed  and  confused  utterance  of  pleasure,  apprehension  and 
regret.  The  conjecture  arose  that  she  might  have  escaped 
from  the  storm,  and  while  a  few  remained  and  continued 
the  search,  it  was  agreed  that  the  main  body  should  dis- 
tribute themselves  in  squads  and  scour  the  forest  and  region 
round  about.  They  took  horns  wherewith  to  betoken  suc- 
cess, if  success  should  attend  them. 

Margaret,  who,  as  the  hours  wore  away,  could  no  more 
than  resign  herself  to  passing  events,  was  startled  from  her 
reveries  by  the  rustling  of  footsteps  and  the  sound  of  a 
human  voice.  At  the  same  instant  she  saw  the  Master 
running  precipitously  across  the  woods,  and  crying  out, 
"Ursa  major!  Ursae  minores  !  Great  Bear!  Little  Bears! 
O  ! "  The  man's  arms  were  aloft,  his  hat  and  wic  had 


MARGARET  AND  THE  BEAR.  209 

fallen,  the  flaps  of  his  coat  were  torn  in  the  underbrush,  his 
tall  form  like  a  stone  down  a  precipice  seemed  to  rebound 
from  stump  to  puddle  and  puddle  to  stump.  Close  at  his 
heels  was  the  bear  with  her  young,  running  with  similar 
velocity,  but  more  afraid  of  her  pursuers  than  the  Master 
was  of  her,  and  whose  track  she  pursued  only  for  the 
instant  that  it  happened  to  identify  itself  with  the  direct 
course  to  her  lair,  whither  she  betook  herself,  while  the 
Master,  making  a  desperate  effort  to  dodge  the  fury  of  the 
animal,  flung  himself  into  the  arms  of  a  tree. 

At  the  same  moment  men  and  boys  appeared  storming 
and  rattling  through  the  brush,  with  uplifted  axes,  clubs  and 
stones,  in  hue  and  cry  after  the  bear,  whom  happening  to 
alight  upon,  they  had  given  chase  to,  and  driven  to  her 
retreat.  Their  shouts  after  the  beast  were  changed  into 
exclamations  of  a  very  different  character  when  they  beheld 
the  child.  They  sprang  forward  to  Margaret,  caught  her 
in  their  arms,  and  asked  her  a  thousand  questions.  The 
horns  were  blown,  and  presently  there  came  up  from  hill 
and  hommoc,  wood  and  bosket,  rock  and  dingle,  all  around, 
an  answering  volley.  A  loud  trine  reciprocating  blast 
conveyed  the  glad  intelligence  wherever  there  were  those 
interested  to  hear  it.  The  Master  at  length  ventured 
forward.  What  were  his  emotions  or  his  manners  at  find- 
ing the  lost  one  alive,  we  will  not  detail.  To  show  feeling 
before  folks  mortified  him  greatly  ;  the  received  mode  of 
expression  he  did  not  follow  ;  nor  were  his  contradictions 
executed  by  any  rule  that  would  enable  us  to  describe 
them.  "  We  have  found  the  child,  let  us  now  kill  the 
bear,"  became  the  cry ; — the  animal  in  the  mean  time 
having  slunk,  trembling  to  the  death,  under  the  low  eaves 
of  her  den. 

"  Never,  never ! "  was  the   vehement  expostulation  of 
18* 


210  MARGARET. 

Margaret,  as  she  recounted  the  passages  between  herself 
and  the  animal. 

"  Wai,"  said  the  boys,  "  if  she  has  been  so  good  to  the 
gal,  we  won't  touch  her." 

It  was  a  question  how  the  child  should  be  got  home. 
Some  proposed  carrying  her  in  their  arms,  but  the  general 
voice  suggested  a  litter,  which,  of  poles  and  green  boughs, 
was  quickly  made,  and  borne  by  four  men.  The  hat  and 
wig  of  the  Master  were  replaced,  and  his  tattered  garments 
mended  by  the  women,  who,  leaving  their  homes  in  haste, 
carried  away  scissors,  thread  and  needle  in  their  pockets. 
Their  best  course  to  the  Pond  was  through  Breakneck,  and 
so  down  the  Brandon  road  by  No.  4.  A  fearful  gorge, 
terminating,  however,  in  a  rich  bottom,  gave  the  name 
Breakneck  to  what  was  in  reality  a  pleasant  neighborhood, 
consisting  of  the  three  families  before  mentioned,  the  Orffs, 
Joys  and  Whistons,  who  were  all  substantial  farmers. 
Joseph  Whiston  led  the  way  to  his  father's.  Margaret  was 
carried  into  the  house,  where  Mistress  Whiston  and  other 
ladies  examined  and  dressed  her  wounds,  and  had  some 
toast  made  for  her,  and  a  cup  of  tea,  adding  also  quince  pre- 
serves. While  Margaret  was  resting,  the  young  men 
busied  themselves  in  putting  together  a  more  convenient 
carriage  than  the  litter,  and  Beulah  Ann  Orff  brought  thick 
comfortables  to  cover  it  with,  and  pillows  and  bolsters  to 
put  under  the  child's  head.  On  this  Margaret  was  placed, 
and  born  off  on  the  shoulders  of  the  young  men.  For  the 
Master  a  horse  was  kindly  provided.  Again  they  started ; 
the  boys  whooping,  capering,  and  sounding  their  horns. 
Passing  the  side-path  that  led  to  Joyce  Dooly,  the  Fortune- 
teller's, there,  at  the  entrance  of  the  woods,  on  a  high  rock  , 
stood  the  mysterious  woman  herself,  holding  by  strings  her 
five  cats. 


REJOICINGS.  211 

At  sight  of  her  the  people  were  silent.  She  enacted 
sundry  grimaces,  uttered  mumming  sentences,  declared  she 
foresaw  the  day  previous  the  loss  and  recovery  of  the  child, 
pronounced  over  her  some  mystic  congratulations,  waved 
her  hand  and  departed,  and  the  people  renewed  their 
shouts.  Over  fences,  through  the  woods,  up  from  ravines, 
came  others  who  had  been  hunting  in  different  directions, 
and  when  the  party  reached  No.  4,  its  number  was  swelled 
to  more  than  a  hundred.  Here  they  found  another  large 
collection  of  people,  some  of  whom  had  arrived  at  a  later 
hour  from  the  village,  and  others  were  just  returned  from 
the  search.  Here  also  were  desolating  marks  of  the  storm, 
in  roofs,  chimneys,  windows,  trees,  fences,  fields.  Deacon 
Ramsdill,  lame  as  he  was,  and  his  wife,  had  walked  from  their 
home  beyond  the  Green.  Parson  Welles  and  the  Preach- 
er were  engaged  in  familiar  conversation, — the  first  time 
they  had  ever  spoken  together.  "  The  Lord  be  praised ! " 
ejaculated  the  Preacher.  "  We  see  the  Scripture  fulfilled," 
said  the  Parson.  "  There  is  more  joy  over  one  that  is 
brought  back,  than  over  the  ninety  and  nine  that  went  not 
astray."  "  Amen,"  responded  the  Preacher. 

"  You  came  pretty  nigh  having  considerable  of  a  tough 
sort  of  a  time,  didn't  you,  dear  ?  "  said  Deacon  Ramsdill, 
advancing  and  shaking  Margaret's  hand ;  "  but  like-to  never 
killed  but  one  man  and  he  died  a  laughin'.  It'll  do  you 
good ;  it  is  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  calves  to  lie  out 
of  nights  when  the  dew  is  on." 

"  Our  best  hog  was  killed  in  the  pen/'  said  Mistress  Gub- 
tail ;  "  but  here's  some  salve,  if  it'll  be  of  any  sarvice  to  the 
child." 

"  Salve ! "  retorted  the  Widow  Wright,  indignantly,  and 
elbowing  her  way  through  the  crowd.  "  Here's  the  Nom- 
mernisstortumbug,  none  of  your  twaddle,  the  gennewine 


212  MARGAHET. 

tippee,  caustic  and  expectorant,  good  for  bruises  and  ails 
in  the  vitals." 

"  I've  got  some  plums  that  Siah  picked  under  the  tree 
that  blowed  down,"  said  Mistress  Hatch  ;  "  I  guess  the  gal 
would  like  them,  and  if  any  body  else  wants  to  eat,  they 
are  welcome,  if  they  are  all  we've  got." 

"  Bring  urn  along,  Dorothy,"  said  Mistress  Tapley  to  her 
little  daughter.  "A  platter  of  nutcakes.  The  chimbly 
tumbled  in  while  I  was  frying,  and  they  are  a  little  sutty, 
but  if  the  gal  is  hungry  they'll  eat  well." 

Provisions  of  a  different  description  were  furnished  from 
the  Tavern,  of  which  the  multitude  partook  freely.  People 
from  the  village  also  sent  up  quantities  of  fruit  and  cakes. 
But  they  could  not  tarry,  they  must  hasten  to  the  child's 
home.  They  went  up  the  hill,  Margaret  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  young  men,  escorted,  as  it  would  seem,  by  half  the 
town,  all  wild  with  joy.  Pluck  was  in  transports ;  Obed 
laughed  and  cried  together  ;  Hash  was  so  much  delighted 
that  he  drank  himself  nearly  drunk  at  the  Tavern.  When 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  a  new  flourish  of  the  horn 
was  made,  three  cheers  given,  hats  and  green  twigs  swung. 
Chilion,  whom  the  good  news  had  already  reached,  was 
seated  in  a  chair  outside  the  door ;  Bull,  unable  to  move, 
lay  on  the  grass,  wagging  his  tail  with  joy ;  Brown  Moll 
took  to  spinning  flax  as  hard  as  she  could  spin  and  smok- 
ing, to  keep  her  sensations  down ;  the  little  Isabel  did  not 
know  what  to  do,  she  was  so  glad. 

Margaret  was  conveyed  to  her  mother's  bed.  Dr.  Spoor 
examined  her  wounds  and  pronounced  them  not  serious, 
and  all  the  women  did  and  said  the  same  thing.  Parson 
Welles  suggested  to  the  Preacher  the  opportuneness  of  a 
prayer  of  thanksgiving,  which  the  latter  offered  in  a  becom- 
ing manner.  A  general  collation  was  had  in  which  the 


REJOICINGS.  213 

family,  who  had  tasted  of  nothing  since  the  noon  before, 
were  made  glad  participants.  Chilion,  to  express  his  own 
transport,  or  to  embody  and  respond  to  the  delight  of  the 
people,  called  for  his  violin.  He  wrought  that  effect  with 
his  instrument,  in  which  he  took  evident  pleasure,  moving 
the  parties  in  a  kind  of  subservient  unison,  and  gliding  into 
a  familiar  reel  he  soon  had  them  dancing.  On  the  grass 
before  the  house,  old  and  young,  grave  and  gay,  they  all 
danced  together.  Parson  Welles,  the  Preacher  and  Dea- 
con Hadlock,  looked  on  smilingly.  Deacon  Ramsdill's 
wife  declaring  Margaret  must  see  what  was  going  on,  had 
her  taken  from  the  bed,  and  held  her  in  her  lap  on  the  door- 
sill.  There  had  been  clouds  over  the  sun  all  day,  and  mists 
in  the  atmosphere,  and  much  dark  feeling  in  all  minds,  nor 
did  the  sun  yet  appear,  only  below  it,  while  it  was  now 
about  an  hour  high,  along  the  horizon,  cleared  away  a  long 
narrow  strip  of  sky  flushing  with  golden  light.  Above  the 
people's  heads  still  hung  gray  clouds,  about  them  were 
green  woods,  underneath  them  the  green  grass,  and  within 
them  were  bright  joyous  sensations,  while  through  all 
things  streamed  this  soft-colored  light,  and  every  thing  be- 
came a  sort  of  pavonine  transparency,  and  the  good  folks' 
faces  glowed  with  magical  lustre,  and  their  hearts  beat  with 
a  kind  of  new-birth  enthusiasm.  Deacon  Hadlock,  stirred 
irresistibly,  gave  out,  as  for  years  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  do  in  Church,  the  lines  of  the  Doxology, — 

"  To  God  the  Father,  Son, 
And  Spirit,  glory  be. 
As  'twas,  and  is,  and  shall  be  so 
To  all  eternity." 

Chilion  giving  the  pitch,  and  leading  off  on  the  violin  as  he 
alone  could,  they  sung  as  they  felt.  When  they  were  about 
breaking  up,  Deacon  Ramsdill  said,  "  Shan't  we  have  a 


214  MARGARET. 

collection  ?  We  have  had  pretty  nice  times,  but  stripping 
arter  all  is  the  best  milk,  and  I  guess  they'll  like  it  as  well 
as  any  thing  now.  We  shall  have  to  feather  this  creeter's 
nest,  or  the  bird  will  be  off  agin.  Here's  my  hat  if  some  of 
these  lads  will  pass  it  round." 

A  contribution  was  made,  and  thus  the  night  of  the 
morning  became  a  morning  at  night  to  the  Pond  and  the 
people  of  Livingston. 


. 

WINTER.  215 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


IT  is  the  middle  of  winter,  and  is  snowing,  and  has  been 
all  night,  with  a  strong  north-east  wind.  Let  us  take  a 
moment  when  the  storm  intermits,  and  look  in  at  Marga- 
ret's and  see  how  they  do.  But  we  cannot  approach  the 
place  by  any  ordinary  locomotion ;  the  roads,  lanes  and 
by-paths  are  blocked  up ;  no  horse  or  ox  could  make 
his  way  through  this  great  Sahara  of  snow.  If  we  are  dis- 
posed to  adopt  the  means  of  conveyance  formerly  so  much 
in  vogue,  whether  snowshoes  or  magic,  we  may  possibly 
get  there.  The  house  or  hut  is  half  sunk  in  the  general 
accumulation,  as  if  it  had  foundered  and  was  going  to  the 
bottom ;  the  face  of  the  Pond  is  smooth,  white  and  stiff  as 
death ;  the  oxen  and  the  cow  in  the  barnyard,  in  their  storm- 
fleeces,  look  like  a  new  variety  of  sheep.  All  is  silence  and 
lifelessness,  and  if  you  please  to  say,  desolation.  Hens 
there  are  none,  nor  turkeys,  nor  ducks,  nor  birds,  nor 
Bull,  nor  Margaret.  If  you  see  any  signs  of  a  human 
being,  it  is  the  dark  form  of  Hash,  mounted  on  snowshoes, 
going  from  the  house  to  the  barn.  Yet  there  are,  what  by 
a  kind  of  provincial  misnomer  is  called  the  black  growth, 
pines  and  firs,  green  as  in  summer,  some  flanking  the  hill 
behind,  looking  like  the  real  snowballs,  blossoming  in  mid- 
winter, and  nodding  with  large  white  flowers.  But  there 
is  one  token  of  life,  the  smoke  of  the  stunt  gray  chimney, 
which,  if  you  regard  it  as  one,  resembles  a  large,  elongated, 
transparent  balloon  ;  or  if  you  look  at  it  by  piecemeal,  it  is 


216  MARGARET. 

a  beautiful  current  of  bluish-white  vapor,  flowing  upward 
unendingly;  and  prettily  is  it  striped  and  particolored,  as  it 
passes  successively  the  green  trees,  bare  rocks,  and  white 
crown  of  Indian's  Head  ;  nor  does  its  interest  cease,  even 
when  it  disappears  among  the  clouds.  Some  would  dwell 
a  good  while  on  that  smoke,  and  see  in  it  many  outshows 
and  denotements  of  spiritualities ;  others  would  say,  the 
house  is  buried  so  deep  it  must  come  from  the  hot,  mis- 
chief-hatching heart  of  the  earth ;  others  still  would  fancy 
the  whole  region  to  be  in  its  winding-sheet,  and  that  if  they 
looked  into  the  house  they  would  behold  the  dead  faces  of 
their  friends.  Our  own  notion  is  that  that  smoke  is  a  quiet, 
domestic  affair,  that  it  even  has  the  flavor  of  some  sociable 
cookery,  and  is  legitimately  issued  from  a  grateful  and  pleas- 
ant fire ;  and  that  if  we  should  go  into  the  house  we  should 
find  the  family  as  usual  there ;  a  suggestion  which,  as  the 
storm  begins  to  renew  itself,  we  shall  do  well  to  take  the 
opportunity  to  verify. 

Flourishing  in  the  midst  of  snowbanks,  unmoved  amid  the 
fiercest  onsets  of  the  storm,  comfertable  in  the  extremity 
of  winter,  the  family  are  all  gathered  in  the  kitchen,  and 
occupied  as  may  be.  In  the  cavernous  fireplace  burns  a  great 
fire,  composed  of  a  huge  green  backlog  and  forestick,  and 
a  high  cob-work  of  crooked  and  knotty  refuse  wood.  The 
flame  is  as  bright  and  golden  as  in  Windsor  Palace,  or  Fifth 
Avenue,  New  York.  The  smoke  goes  off  out-doors  with 
no  more  hesitancy  than  if  it  was  summer  time.  The  wood 
sings,  the  sap  drops  on  the  hot  coals,  and  explodes  as  if  it 
was  Independence  Day.  Great  red  coals  roll  out  on  the 
hearth,  sparkle  a  semibrief,  lose  their  grosser  substance,  in- 
dicate a  more  ethereal  essence  in  prototypal  forms  of  white, 
down-like  cinders,  and  then  dissolve  into  brown  ashes. 

To  a  stranger  the  room  has  a  sombre  aspect,  rather 


WINTER.  217 

heightened  than  relieved  by  the  light  of  the  fire  burning  so 
brightly  at  midday.  The  only  connection  with  the  external 
world  is  by  a  rude  aperture  through  the  sides  of  the  build- 
ing ; — yet  when  the  outer  light  is  so  obscured  by  a  storm, 
the  bright  fire  within  must  any  where  be  pleasant.  In  one 
corner  of  the  room  is  Pluck,  in  a  red  flannel  shirt  and 
leather  apron,  at  work  on  his  kit  mending  shoes  ;  with  long 
and  patient  vibration  and  equipoise  he  draws  the  threads, 
and  interludes  the  strokes  with  snatches  of  songs,  banter 
and  laughter.  The  apartment  seems  converted  into  a  work- 
shop, for  next  the  shoemaker  stands  the  shingle-maker, 
Hash,  who  with  froe  in  one  hand  and  mallet  in  the  other,  by 
dint  of  smart  percussion,  is  endeavoring  to  rive  a  three-cor- 
nered billet  of  hemlock.  In  the  centre  sits  Brown  Moll, 
with  bristling  and  grizzly  hair,  and  her  inseparable  pipe, 
winding  yarn  from  a  swift.  Nearer  the  fire  are  Chilion  and 
Margaret ;  the  latter  with  the  Orbis  Pictus,  or  World  Dis- 
played, a  book  of  Latin  and  English,  adorned  with  cuts, 
which  the  Master  lent  her ;  the  former  with  his  violin,  en- 
deavoring to  describe  the  notes  in  Dr.  Byle's  Collection  of 
Sacred  Music,  also  a  loan  of  the  Master's,  and  at  intervals 
trailing  on  the  lead  of  his  father  in  some  popular  air.  We 
shall  also  see  that  one  of  Chilion's  feet  is  raised  on  a  stool, 
bandaged,  and  apparently  disabled.  Bull,  the  dog,  lies 
rounded  on  the  hearth,  his  nose  between  his  paws,  fast 
asleep.  Dick,  the  gray  squirrel,  sits  swinging  listlessly  in 
his  wire  wheel,  like  a  duck  on  a  wave.  Robin,  the  bird, 
in  its  cage,  shrugs  and  folds  itself  into  its  feathers,  as  if  it 
were  night.  Over  the  fireplace,  on  the  rough  stones  of  the 
chimney,  which  day  and  night  through  all  the  long  winter 
novf  cease  to  be  warm,  are  Margaret's  flowers ;  a  blood-root 
in  the  marble  pot  Rufus  Palmer  gave  her,  and  in  wooden 
VOL.  i.  19 


218  MARGARET. 

moss-covered  boxes,  pinks,  violets  and  buttercups,  green 
and  flowering.  Here,  also,  as  a  sort  of  mantletree  orna- 
ment, sits  the  marble  kitten  that  Rufus  made,  under  a  cedar 
twig.  At  one  end  of  the  crane,  in  the  vacant  side  of  the 
fireplace,  hang  rings  of  pumpkin  rinds  drying  for  beer. 
On  the  walls,  in  addition  to  what  was  there  last  summer, 
are  strings  of  dried  apples.  There  is  also  a  draw-horse, 
on  which  Hash  smooths  and  squares  his  shingles ;  and  a 
pile  of  fresh,  sweet-scented  white  shavings  and  splinters. 
Through  the  yawns  of  the  back-door  and  sundry  rents  in 
the  logs  of  the  house  filter  in,  unweariedly,  fine  particles  of 
snow,  and  thus  along  the  sides  of  the  rooms  rise  little  cone- 
shaped,  marble-like  pilasters. 

Within  doors  is  a  mixed  noise  of  miscellaneous  opera- 
tions ;  without  is  the  rushing  of  the  storm.  Pluck  snip- 
snaps  with  his  wife,  cracks  on  Hash,  shows  his  white  teeth 
to  Margaret ;  Chilion  asks  his  sister  to  sing  ;  Hash  orders 
her  to  bring  a  coal  to  light  his  pipe  ;  her  mother  gets  her  to 
pick  a  snarl  out  of  the  yarn.  She  climbs  upon  a  stool  and 
looks  out  of  the  window.  The  scene  is  obscured  by  the 
storm ;  the  thick  driving  flakes  throw  a  brownish  mizzly 
shade  over  all  things,  air,  trees,  hills,  and  every  avenue  the 
eye  has  been  wont  to  traverse.  The  light  tufts  hiss  like 
arrows  as  they  shoot  by.  The  leafless  butternut,  whereon 
the  whippoorwill  used  to  sing,  and  the  yellow  warbler  make 
its  nest,  sprawls  its  naked  arms,  and  moans  pitifully  in  the 
blast ;  the  snow  that  for  a  moment  is  amassed  upon  it,  falls 
to  the  ground  like  a  harvest  of  alabaster  fruit.  The  peach- 
tree,  that  bears  Margaret's  own  name,  and  is  of  her  own 
age,  seems  to  be  drowning  in  the  snow.  Water  drops  from 
the  eaves,  occasioned  by  the  snow  melting  about  the 
chimney. 


219 


"  I  should'nt  wonder  if  we  had  a  snow-storm,  before  it's 
over,  Molly,"  said  Pluck,  strapping  his  knife  on  the  edge 
of  the  kit. 

"  And  you  are  getting  ready  for  it,  fast,"  rejoined  his 
wife.  "  I  should  be  thankful  for  those  shoes  any  time  be- 
fore next  July.  I  can't  step  out  without  wetting  my  feet." 

"  "Wetting  is  not  not  so  bad  after  all,"  answered  Pluck. 
"  For  my  part  I  keep  too  dry. — "Who  did  the  Master  tell 
you  was  the  god  of  shoemakers?"  he  asked,  addressing 
Margaret. 

"  St.  Crispin,"  replied  the  child. 

"  Guess  I'll  pay  him  a  little  attention,"  said  the  man, 
going  to  the  rum  bottle  that  stood  by  the  chimney.  "  I  feel 
some  interest  in  these  things,  and  I  think  I  have  some 
reason  to  indulge  a  hope  that  I  am  among  the  elect." 

"  He  wouldn't  own  you,"  said  his  wife,  tartly. 

"Why,  dear?" 

"  Because  you  are  not  a  man  ;  you  are  not  the  thrum  of 
one.  Scrape  you  all  up,  and  we  shouldn't  get  lint  enough 
to  put  on  Chilion's  foot." 

"  Look  at  that,"  said  her  husband,  exposing  his  bare  arm, 
flabby  and  swollen ;  "  what  do  you  think  now  ?  " 

"  Mutton  fat !  Try  you  out,  run  you  into  cakes.,  make  a 
present  of  you  to  your  divinity  to  grease  his  boots  with. 
The  fire  is  getting  low,  Meg ;  can't  you  bring  in  some 
wood?" 

" You  are  a  woman  really ! "  retorted  Pluck,  «<  to  send 
the  child  out  in  such  a  storm,  when  it  would  take  three 
men  to  hold  one's  head  on." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  laughed  out  his  spouse.  "You  must  have 
stitched  your  own  on ;  I  don't  wonder  you  are  afraid. — 
That  is  the  way  you  lost  your  ear  trying  to  hold  on  your 
head  in  a  storm,  ha  ha ! ;> 


220  MARGARET. 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Pluck,  "  you  think  you  are  equal  to 
three  men  in  wit,  learning,  providing,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Mayhaps  so." 

"And  weaving,  spinning,  coloring,  reeling,  twisting, 
cooking,  clinching,  henpecking? — I  guess  you  are.  Can 
you  tell,  dearest  Maria,  what  is  Latin  for  the  Widow's 
Obed's  red  hair  ?  " 

"  I  can  for  the  maggot  that  makes  powder-post  of  our 
whole  family,  Didymus  Hart." 

Pluck  laughed,  and  staggered  towards  his  bench. 

"  I  knew  we  should  have  a  storm,"  said  his  wife,  "  after 
such  a  cold  spell ;  I  saw  a  Bull's  Eye  towards  night ;  my 
corns  have  been  pricking  more  than  usual ;  a  flight  of 
snow-birds  went  by  day  before  yesterday.  And  it  won't 
hold  up  till  after  the  full,  and  that's  to-night." 

"  I  thought  as  much  too,"  answered  Pluck.  "  Bottle 
has  emptied  fast,  glums  been  growing  darker  in  the  face, 
windle  spun  faster,  cold  potatoes  for  dinner,  hot  tongue  for 
supper. ' 

"  You  shall  fetch  the  wood,  Meg,  or  I'll  warm  your  back 
with  a  shingle,"  said  her  mother,  flinging  out  a  threat  which 
she  had  no  intention  of  executing.  "  Hash  is  good  for 
something,  that  he  is." 

"  Yes,  Maharshalalhashbaz,  my  second  born,"  interjected 
Pluck,  "  sell  your  shingles  to  the  women  ;  they'll  give  you 
more  than  Deacon  Penrose ;  it  is  such  a  nice  thing  for 
heating  a  family  with.  We  shan't  need  any  more  roofs  to 
our  houses — always  excepting,  of  course,  your  dear  and 
much-honored  mother,  who  is  a  warming-pan  in  herself, 
good  as  a  Bath  Stove." 

Hash,  spurred  on  by  this  double  shot,  plied  his  mallet 
the  harder,  and  declared  with  an  oath  that  he  would  not  get 


221 


the  wood,  they  might  freeze  first ;   adding  that  he  hauled 
and  cut  it,  and  that  was  his  part. 

Chilion  whispered  to  his  sister  and  she  went  out  for  the 
purpose  in  question.  It  was  not  excessively  cold,  since  the 
weather  moderated  as  the  storm  increased,  and  she  might 
have  taken  some  interest  in  that  tempestuous  outer  world. 
The  wind  blazed  and  racketed  through  the  narrow  space 
between  the  house  and  the  hill.  The  flakes  shaded 
and  mottled  the  sky,  and  fell  twirling,  pitching,  skimble- 
scamble,  and  anon,  slowly  and  more  regularly,  as  in  a 
minuet ;  and  as  they  came  nearer  the  ground,  they  were 
caught  up  by  the  current,  and  borne  in  a  horizontal  line, 
like  long,  quick  spun,  silver  threads,  afar  across  the  land- 
scape. There  was  but  little  snow  in  the  shed,  although 
entirely  open  on  the  south  side ;  the  storm  seeming  to 
devote  itself  to  building  up  a  drift  in  front.  This  drift  had 
now  reached  a  height  of  seven  or  eight  feet.  It  sloped  up 
like  the  roof  of  a  pyramid,  and  on  the  top  was  an  appendage 
like  a  horn,  or  a  plume,  or  a  marble  jet  d'eau,  or  a  frozen 
flame  of  fire ;  and  the  elements  in  all  their  violence,  the 
eddies  that  veered  about  the  corner  of  the  house,  the  oc- 
casional side  blasts,  still  dallied,  and  stopped  to  mould  it 
and  finish  it ;  and  it  became  thinner,  and  more  tapering  and 
spiral ;  each  singular  flake  adjusting  itself  to  the  very  tip, 
with  instinctive  nicety  ;  till  at  last  it  broke  off  by  its  own 
weight — then  a  new  one  went  on  to  be  formed.  Under 
this  drift  lay  the  wood  Margaret  was  after,  and  she  hesi- 
tated to  demolish  the  pretty  structure.  The  cistern  was 
overrun  with  ice  ;  the  water  fell  from  the  spout  in  an  ice 
tube,  the  half  barrel  was  rimmed  about  with  a  broad  round 
moulding  of  similar  stuff,  and  where  the  water  flowed  off,  it 
had  formed  a  solid  wavy  cascade,  and  under  the  cold 
19* 


222  MARGARET. 

snows  the  clear  cold  water  could  be  heard  babbling  and 
singing  as  if  it  no  whit  cared  for  the  weather.  From  the 
corner  of  the  house  the  snow  fretted  and  spirted  in  con- 
tinuous shower.  A  flock  of  snowbirds  suddenly  flashed 
before  the  eyes  of  the  child,  borne  on  by  the  wind ;  they 
endeavored  to  tack  about,  and  run  in  under  the  lee  of  the 
shed,  but  the  remorseles  elements  drifted  them  on,  and  they 
were  apparently  dashed  against  the  woods  beyond.  Seeing 
one  of  the  little  creatures  drop,  Margaret  darted  out  through 
the  snow,  caught  the  luckless  or  lucky  wanderer,  and  amid 
the  butting  winds,  sharp  rack,  and  smothering  sheets  of 
spray,  carried  it  into  the  house.  In  her  Book  of  Birds,  she 
found  it  to  be  a  snow-bunting  ;  that  it  was  hatched  in  a  nest 
of  reindeer's  hair  near  the  North  Pole,  that  it  had  sported 
among  eternal  solitudes  of  rocks  and  ice,  and  come  thousands 
of  miles.  It  was  purely  white,  while  others  of  the  species 
are  rendered  in  darker  shades.  She  put  it  in  the  cage 
with  Robin,  who  received  the  travelled  stranger  with  due 
respect. 

Night  came  on  and  Margaret  went  to  bed.  The  wind 
puffed,  hissed,  whistled,  shrieked,  thundered,  sighed,  howled, 
by  turns.  The  house  jarred  and  creaked,  her  bed  rocked 
under  her,  loose  boards  on  the  roof  clappered  and  rattled, 
snow  pelted  the  window-shutter.  In  such  a  din  and  tustle 
of  the  elements  lay  the  child.  She  had  no  sister  to  nestle 
with  her,  and  snug  her  up ;  no  gentle  mother  to  fold  the 
sheets  about  her  neck,  and  tuck  in  the  bed  ;  no  watchful 
father  to  come  with  a  light,  and  see  that  all  was  safe. 

In  the  fearfulness  of  that  night,  she  sung  or  said  to  her- 
self some  words  of  the  Master's,  which  he  however  must 
have  given  her  for  a  different  purpose — for  of  needs  must  a 
stark  child's  nature  in  such  a  crisis  appeal  to  something 


223 


above  and  superior  to  itself  and  she  had  taken  a  floating 
impression  that  the  Higher  Agencies,  whatever  they  might 
be,  existed  in  Latin : — 

"  O  sanctissima,  O  purissima, 

Dulcis  Virgo  Maria, 

Mater  amata,  intemerata! 

Ora,  ora,  pro  nobis ! " 

As  she  slept  amid  the  passion  of  the  storm,  softly  did  the 
snow  from  the  roof  distil  upon  her  feet,  and  sweetly  did 
dreams  from  heaven  descend  into  her  soul.  In  her  dream 
she  was  walking  in  a  large,  high,  self-illuminated  hall,  with 
flowers,  statues  and  columns  on  either  side.  Above,  it 
seemed  to  vanish  into  a  sort  of  opaline-colored  invisibility. 
The  statues,  of  clear  white  marble,  large  as  life,  and  the 
flowers  in  marble  vases,  alternated  with  each  other  between 
the  columns,  whose  ornamented  capitals  merged  in  the 
shadows  above.  There  was  no  distinct  articulate  voice, 
but  a  low  murmuring  of  the  air,  or  sort  of  musical  pulsation, 
that  filled  the  place.  The  statues  seemed  to  be  for  the 
most  part  marble  embodiments  of  pictures  she  had  seen  in 
the  Master's  books.  There  were  the  Venus  de  Medicis  ; 
Diana,  with  her  golden  bow  :  Ceres,  with  poppies  and  ears 
of  corn ;  Humanity,  "  with  sweet  and  lovely  countenance ; " 
Temperance,  pouring  water  from  a  pitcher;  Diligence, 
with  a  sickle  and  sheaf;  Peace,  and  her  crown  of  olives; 
Truth,  with  "  her  looks  serene,  pleasant,  courteous,  cheerful, 
and  yet  modest."  The  flowers  were  such  as  she  had  some- 
times seen  about  houses  in  the  village,  but  of  rare  size  and 
beauty  ; — cactuses,  dahlias,  carnations,  large  pink  hydran- 
geas, white  japonicas,  calla  lilies,  and  others.  Their 
shadows  waved  on  the  white  walls,  and  it  seemed  to  her  as 
if  the  music  she  heard  issued  from  their  cups. 

Sauntering  along  she  came  to  a  marble  arch,  or  door- 


224  MAKGARET. 

way,  handsomely  sculptured,  and  supported  on  caryatides. 
This  opened  to  a  large  rotunda,  where  she  saw  nine 
beautiful  female  figures  swimming  in  a  circle  in  the  air. 
These  strewed  on  her  as  she  passed  leaves  and  flowers  of 
amaranth,  angelica,  myrtle,  white  jasmin,  white  poppy,  and 
eglantine  ;  and  spun  round  and  round  silently  as  swallows. 
By  a  similar  arch,  she  went  into  another  rotunda,  where 
was  a  marble  monument  or  sarcophagus,  from  which  two 
marble  children  with  wings  were  represented  as  rising,  and 
above  them  fluttered  two  iris-colored  butterflies.  Through 
another  door-way  she  entered  a  larger  space  opening  to  ihe 
heavens.  In  this  she  saw  a  woman,  the  same  woman  she  had 
before  seen  in  her  dreams,  with  long  black  hair,  and  a  pale 
beautiful  face,  who  stood  silently  pointing  to  a  figure  far  off 
on  the  rose-colored  clouds.  This  figure  was  Christ,  whom  she 
recognized.  Near  him,  on  the  round  top  of  a  purple  cloud, 
having  the  blue  distant  sky  for  a  background,  was  the  milk- 
white  Cross,  twined  with  evergreens  ;  about  it,  hand  in 
hand,  she  saw  moving  as  in  a  distance  four  beautiful  female 
figures,  clothed  in  white  robes.  These  she  remembered  as 
the  ones  she  saw  in  her  dream  at  the  Still,  and  she  now 
knew  them  to  be  Faith,  Hope,  Love,  and  their  sister,  who 
was  yet  of  their  own  creation,  Beauty.  Then  in  her 
dream  she  returned,  and  at  the  door  where  she  entered  this 
mysterious  place  she  found  a  large  green  bull-frog,  with 
great  goggle  eyes,  having  a  pond-lily  saddled  to  his  back. 
Seating  herself  in  the  cup,  she  held  on  by  the  golden 
pistils  as  the  pommel  of  a  saddle,  and  the  frog  leaped  with 
her  clear  into  the  next  morning,  in  her  own  little  dark 
chamber. 

When  she  awoke  the  wind  and  noise  without  had  ceased. 
A  perfect  cone  of  pure  white  snow  lay  piled  up  over  her 
feet,  and  she  attributed  her  dream  partly  to  that.  She 


225 


opened  the  window-shutter  ;  it  was  even  then  snowing  in 
large,  quiet,  moist  flakes,  which  showed  that  the  storm  was 
nearly  at  an  end ;  and  in  the  east,  near  the  sunrising,  she 
saw  the  clouds  bundling  up,  ready  to  go  away.  She  descend- 
ed to  the  kitchen,  where  a  dim,  dreary  light  entered  from 
the  window.  Chilion,  who,  unable  to  go  up  the  ladder  to 
his  chamber,  had  a  bunk  of  pelts  of  wild  beasts  near  the 
fire,  still  lay  there.  Under  a  bank  of  ashes  and  cinders, 
smoked  and  sweltered  the  remains  of  the  great  backlog. 

Pluck  opened  the  ashes  and  drew  forward  the  charred 
stick,  which  cracked  and  crumbled  into  large  deep  crimson, 
fine-grained,  glowing  coals,  throwing  a  ruddy  glare  over  the 
room.  He  dug  a  trench  for  the  new  log,  deep  as  if  he  were 
laying  a  cellar  wall. 

After  breakfast  Margaret  opened  the  front  door  to  look 
out.  Here  rose  a  straight  and  sheer  breastwork  of  snow, 
five  feet  or  more  in  height,  nicely  scarfing  the  door  and 
lintels.  Pluck  could  just  see  over  it,  but  for  this  purpose 
Margaret  was  obliged  to  use  a  chair.  The  old  gentleman, 
in  a  fit  of  we  shall  not  say  uncommon  good  feeling,  declared 
Be  would  dig  through  it.  So  seizing  a  shovel  he  went  by 
the  back  door  to  the  front  of  the  house,  at  a  spot  where  the 
whiffling  winds  had  left  the  earth  nearly  bare,  and  com- 
menced his  subnivean  work.  Margaret,  standing  in  the 
chair,  saw  him  disappear  under  the  snow,  which  he  threw 
behind  him  like  a  rabbit.  She  awaited  in  great  excitement 
his  reappearance  under  the  drift,  hallooed  to  him,  and 
threatened  to  set  the  dog  on  him  as  a  thief.  Pluck  made 
some  gruff  unusual  sound,  beat  the  earth  with  his  shovel ; 
the  dog  bow  wow'd  at  the  snow  ;  Margaret  laughed.  Soon 
this  mole  of  a  man  poked  his  shovel  through,  and  straight- 
way followed  with  himself,  all  in  a  sweat,  and  the  snow 
melting  like  wax  from  his  hot,  red  face.  Thus  was  opened 


226  MARGARET. 

I 

a  snow-tunnel,  as  good  to  Margaret  as  the  Thames,  two  or 
three  rods  long,  and  three  or  four  feet  high,  and  through  it 
she  went. 

The  storm  had  died  away ;  the  sun  was  struggling 
through  the  clouus  as  if  itself  in  search  of  warmth  from 
what  looked  like  the  hot,  glowing  face  of  the  earth  ;  there 
were  blue  breaks  in  the  sky  overhead  ;  and  far  off,  above 
the  frigid  western  hills,  lay  violet-fringed  cloud-drifts.  A 
bank  of  snow,  reaching  in  some  places  quite  to  the  caves  of 
the  house,  buried  many  feet  deep  the  mallows,  dandelions, 
rosebushes  and  hencoops. 

The  chestnuts  shone  in  the  new  radiance  with  their 
polished,  shivering,  cragged  limbs,  a  spectacle  both  to  pity 
and  admire.  The  evergreens  drooped  under  their  burdens 
like  full-blown  sunflowers.  The  dark,  leafless  spray  of  the 
beeches  looked  like  bold  delicate  netting  or  linear  em- 
broidery on  the  blue  sky,  or  as  if  the  trees,  interrupted  in 
their  usual  method  of  growth,  were  taking  root  in  mid- 
winter up  among  the  warm  transparent  heavens. 

Pluck  sported  with  Margaret,  throwing  great  armfuls  of 
snow  that  burst  and  scattered  over  her  like  rocks  of  down, 
then  suffering  himself  to  be  fired  at  in  turn.  lie  set  her 
astride  the  dog,  who  romped  and  flounced,  and  pitched  her 
into  a  drift  whence  her  father  drew  her  by  her  ankles.  As 
he  was  going  in  through  the  tunnel,  a  pile  of  snow  that  lay 
on  the  roof  of  the  house  fell  and  broke  the  frail  arch, 
burying  the  old  man  in  chilly  ruins.  He  gasped,  floundered, 
and  thrust  up  his  arms  through  the  superincumbent  mass, 
like  a  drowning  man.  Margaret  leaped  with  laughter,  and 
BrovYn  Moll  herself  coming  to  the  door  was  so  moved  by 
the  drollery  of  the  scene  as  to  be  obliged  to  withdraw  her 
pipe  to  laugh  also.  Bull  was  ordered  to  the  rescue,  who, 
doing  the  best  he  could  under  the  circumstances,  wallowing 


227 


belly-deep  in  the  snow,  seized  the  woollen  shirt-sleeve  of 
his  master,  and  tugged  at  it,  till  he  raised  its  owner's  head 
to  the  surface.  Pluck,  unmoved  in  humor  by  the  coolness 
of  the  drench,  stood  sunk  to  his  chin  in  the  snow,  and 
laughed  as  heartily  as  any  of  them,  his  shining  bald  pate 
and  whelky  red  face  streaming  with  moisture  and  shaking 
with  merriment.  At  length  both  father  and  child  got  into 
the  house  and  dried  themselves  by  the  fire. 

Chilion  demanded  attention ;  his  foot  pained  him  ',  it 
grew  swollen  and  inflamed.  Margaret  bathed  and  poulticed 
it,  she  held  it  in  her  lap  and  soothed  it  with  her  hand.  A 
preparation  of  the  Widow's  was  suggested.  Hash  would 
not  go  for  it,  Pluck  and  his  wife  could  not,  and  Margaret 
must  go.  Bull  could  not  go  with  her,  and  she  must  go 
alone.  She  was  equipped  with  a  warm  hood,  martin-skin 
tippet,  and  a  pair  of  snowshoes.  She  mounted  the  high, 
white,  fuflTy  plain  and  went  on  with  a  soft,  yielding,  yet 
light  step,  almost  as  noiseless  as  if  she  were  walking  the 
clouds.  There  was  no  guide  but  the  trees ;  ditches  by  the 
way-side,  knolls,  stones,  were  all  a  uniform  level.  She 
saw  a  slightly-raised  mound,  indicating  a  large  rock  she 
clambered  over  in  summer.  Black  spikes  and  seed-heads 
of  dead  golden  rods  and  mullens  dotted  the  way.  Here 
was  a  grape  vine  that  seemed  to  have  had  a  skirmish  with 
the  storm  and  both  to  have  conquered,  for  the  vine  was 
crushed,  and  the  snow  lay  in  tatters  upon  it.  About  the 
trunk  of  some  of  the  large  trees  was  a  hollow  pit  reaching 
quite  to  the  ground,  where  the  snow  had  waltzed  round  and 
round  till  it  grew  tired,  and  left.  Wherever  there  was  a 
fence,  thither  had  the  storm  betaken  itself,  and  planted 
alongside  mountain-like  embankments,  impenetrable  dikes, 
and  inaccessible  bluffs. 

Entering  thicker  woods  Margaret  saw  the  deep,  unal- 


228  MARGARET. 

loyed  beauty  of  the  season  ;  the  large  moist  flakes  that  fell 
in  the  morning  had  furred  and  mossed  every  limb  and 
twig,  each  minute  process  and  filament,  each  aglet  and 
thread,  as  if  the  pure  spirits  of  the  air  had  undertaken  to 
frost  the  trees  for  the  marriage  festival  of  their  Prince. 
The  slender  white  birches,  with  silver  bark  and  ebon 
boughs,  that  grew  along  the  path,  were  bent  over ;  their 
arms  met  intertwiningly  ;  and  thus  was  formed  a  perfect 
arch,  voluptuous,  dream-like,  glittering,  under  which  she 
went.  All  was  silent  as  the  moon  ;  there  was  no  sound  of 
birds,  or  cows,  sheep,  dinner-horns,  axes  or  wind.  There 
was  no  life,  but  only  this  white,  shining,  still-life  wrought 
in  boreal  ivory.  No  life  ?  From  the  dusky  woods  darted 
out  those  birds  that  bide  a  New  England  winter ;  dove- 
colored  muthalches  quank  quanked  among  the  hemlocks; 
a  whole  troop  of  titmice  and  woodpeckers  came  bustling 
and  whirring  across  the  way,  shaking  a  shower  of  fine  tiny 
raylets  of  snow  on  the  child's  head  ;  she  saw  the  graceful 
snowbirds,  our  common  bird,  with  ivory  bill,  slate-colored 
back  and  white  breast,  perched  on  the  top  of  the  mulleins 
and  picking  out  the  seeds.  Above  all,  far  above  the  forest 
and  the  snow-capped  hills,  caw  cawed  the  great  black  crow. 
All  at  once,  too,  darted  up  from  the  middle  of  a  snowdrift 
by  the  side  of  the  road  a  little  red  squirrel,  who  sat  bolt 
upright  on  his  hind  legs,  gravely  folded  his  paws  and 
surveyed  her  for  a  moment,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  How  do 
you  do  ?  "  then  in  a  trice,  with  a  squeak,  he  dove  back  into 
his  hole. 

Approaching  the  Widow's,  she  crossed  the  Porta  Salu- 
taris  and  all  the  scrawls  of  the  stump  fence,  without  touch- 
ing them,  on  a  mound  of  snow  that  extended  across  the 
garden,  half  covering  the  side  of  the  house,  wholly  hiding 
Obed's  savory  beds,  and  nearly  enveloping  the  beehive, 


229 


where,  on  the  pardoxical  idea  that  snow  keeps  out  cold,  the 
bees  must  have  been  cozy  and  warm.  Reaching  the  door, 
she  stooped  to  find  the  handle,  but  Obed,  who  espied  her 
coming,  was  already  on  the  spot,  and  handed  her  down 
from  the  drift  as  he  would  from  the  back  of  a  horse.  The 
Goddess  of  the  Temple  very  cordially  received  her  in  her 
adytum,  that  is  to  say,  the  kitchen. 

What  with  the  deep  snowbanks  without,  the  great  fire 
within,  and  the  deft  and  accurate  habits  of  the  lady  of  the 
house,  every  thing  was  neat,  snug  and  comfortable  as  heart 
could  wish.  A  kettle  over  the  fire  simmered  like  the  live- 
long singing  of  crickets  in  a  bed  of  brakes  in  summer  time, 
and  there  was  a  pleasant  garden  perfume  from  numerous 
herbs  dispersed  through  the  room. 

The  Widow  asked  her  son  to  read  sundry  scraps  of 
writing  she  had,  for  Margaret's  particular  edification.  "  You 
see,"  she  said,  "  he's  as  smart  and  perlite  as  any  on  um. 
His  nat'ral  parts  is  equal  to  the  Master's,  and  he  only  needs 
a  little  eddecation  teu  be  a  great  man.  There's  a  good 
deal  in  the  way  of  bringing  children  up  Peggy  ;  you'll 
know  when  you  have  been  a  mother  as  long  as  I  have. 
How  much  have  I  sold,  think,  sen  the  Master  was  here  ? 
Nigh  forty  boxes." 

After  having  sufficiently  enlightened  Margaret  in  these 
matters,  she  promised  her  the  salve  of  which  she  was  in 
quest,  provided  she  would  help  Obed  a  while  in  pasting 
labels  on  the  boxes.  These  she  had  sent  to  Kidderminster 
to  be  printed,  black  tvpe  on  a  red  ground. 

When  Margaret  left  for  home,  the  sun  had  gone  down, 
and  the  moon  rose  full,  to  run  its  high  circuit  in  these  win- 
ter heavens.  The  snow  that  had  melted  on  the  trees  dur- 
ing the  day,  as  the  cool  air  of  evening  came  on,  descended 
in  long  wavy  icicles  from  the  branches,  and  the  woods  in 

VOL.  i.  20. 


230  MARGARET. 

their  entire  perspective  were  tricked  with  these  pendants. 
It  was  magic  land  to  the  child,  almost  as  beautiful  as  her 
dream,  and  she  looked  for  welcome  faces  up  among  the  glit- 
tering trees,  and  far  off"  in  the  white  clouds.  It  was  still  as 
her  dream,  too,  and  her  own  voice  as  she  went  singing 
along,  echoing  in  the  dark  forest,  was  all  she  could  hear. 
The  moon  tinged  the  icicles  with  a  bright  silver  lustre,  and 
the  same  pure  radiancy  was  reflected  from  the  snow.  Anon 
she  fell  into  shade  of  the  Moon  on  her  left ;  while  at  her 
right,  through  the  dark  boughs  of  the  evergreens,  she  saw 
the  planet  Venus,  large  and  brilliant,  just  setting  on  the 
verge  of  the  horizon  in  the  impearled  pathway  of  the  sun. 
She  thought  of  her  other  dream  at  the  Still,  of  Beauty,  fair 
sister  of  three  fair  sisters,  and  she  might  have  gone  off  in 
waking  dreams  among  the  fantasies  of  real  existence,  when 
she  was  drawn  back  by  the  recollection  of  her  brother,  to 
whose  assistance  she  hastened.  It  was  very  cold,  her  breath 
showed  like  smoke  in  the  clear  atmosphere,  and  the  dew 
from  her  mouth  froze  on  her  tippet.  All  at  once  there  was 
a  glare  of  red  light  about  her,  the  silver  icicles  were  trans- 
formed to  rubies,  and  the  snowfields  seemed  to  bloom  with 
glowing  sorrel  flowers.  It  was  the  Northern  Lights  that  shot 
up  their  shafts,  snapped  their  sheets,  unfurled  their  flaming 
penons,  and  poured  their  rich  crimson  dies  upon  the  enam- 
elled earth.  She  thought  the  Winter  and  the  World  were 
beautiful,  her  way  became  more  bright,  and  she  hurried  on 
to  Chilion  ; — for  whom,  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour,  she 
labored  and  watched,  assiduously,  tenderly ;  till  his  foot 
mended  apace,  though  it  never  got  entirely  well. 

One  morning  Obed  called  for  Margaret  to  go  with  him 
to  the  village.  There  had  been  a  rain  the  day  before,  fol- 
lowed by  a  cold  night,  and  the  fields  were  glazed  with  a 
smooth  hard  crust.  They  both  took  sleds,  Margaret  her 


WINTER.  231 

blue-painted  Humming  Bird,  which  she  received  as  a 
Thanksgiving  present  a  while  before.  Obed  had  on  a  bright 
red  knit  woollen  cap,  that  came  down  over  his  ears,  and 
fitted  close  to  his  head,  having  a  spiral  top  surmounted  with 
a  tassel. 

It  was  a  clear  day,  and  the  sun  and  the  earth  seemed  to 
be  striving  together  which  should  shine  with  the  greatest 
strength ;  and  they  served  as  mirrors  respectively  in  which 
to  set  off  one  another's  charms.  As  Margaret  and  Obed  went 
on,  the  light  seemed  to  blow  and  glow  through  the  forest  like 
a  blacksmith's  forge,  and  the  traveller  would  almost  be  afraid 
of  encountering  fiery  flames  if  he  went  on.  Now  riding 
down  pitches,  now  dragging  their  sleds  up  acclivities,  they 
emerged  so  far  from  the  woods  as  to  overlook  the  village 
and  open  country  beyond.  A  steam-like  vapor  arose  from 
the  frozen  River,  diffused  itself  through  the  atmosphere, 
and  hung  like  a  blue  thin  veil  over  the  snowy  summit  of  the 
Mountain.  A  long  band  of  white  mackerel-back  clouds 
garnished  the  sky.  They  came  at  length  to  Deacon  Had- 
lock's  Pasture.  Here  the  scattered  trees  were  all  foaming 
with  ice,  and  the  rain  having  candied  them  over,  trunk  and 
branch,  they  shone  like  so  many  great  candelebras ;  and 
the  surface  of  the  lot,  in  all  its  extent,  burnt  and  glared  in 
the  singeing  sunbeams.  Here  also  they  encountered  a  troop 
of  boys  and  girls  coasting.  Some  were  coming  up  the  hill, 
goring  and  scranching  the  crust  with  their  iron  corks,  others 
wheeling  about  and  skimmering  away  through  the  bright 
air,  the  ups  and  downs  forming  a  perfect  line  of  revolution. 
Margaret  and  Obed,  joining  the  current,  mounted  their 
sleds,  and  scudded  away  down  the  glassy  slope,  with  a 
raphiity  that  would  almost  take  one's  breath  away. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  Pasture,  surmounting  the  fence,  was 
a  high  envelope  of  snow ;  over  which  some  of  the  sleds 


232  MARGARET. 

passed  into  the  road  beyond,  some  came  to  top  and  halted, 
gome  with  a  graceful  recurve  turned  off  aslant,  while  others 
with  less  momentum  going  up  halfway  ran  backwards,  and 
haply  striking  an  obstruction,  reared,  and  threw  their  riders 
heels  over  head.  Margaret  elevated  in  feeling,  and  sup- 
ported withal  by  a  very  spirited  sled,  rushed  into  the  thick- 
est of  the  sport,  dashed  down  the  hill,  made  a  graceful  re- 
turn on  this  terrace  and  mingled  with  the  moiling  merry- 
hearted  ups.  There  were  trees  scattered  through  the  lot, 
and  small  rocks  just  rounded  off  with  snow,  and  larger  ones 
with  a  pitch  in  front,  and  diversities  of  soil  that  gave  a  wavy 
huckle-backed  character  to  the  entire  field.  The  boys  wore 
steeple-crowned  caps  like  Obed's ;  the  girls  were  dressed 
both  in  short  and  long  gowns.  Their  sleds  were  adorned 
with  brave  and  emulous  names, — Washington,  Napoleon, 
Spitfire,  Racer,  Swallow.  The  downs  whooped  by,  cur- 
vetting among  the  trees,  leaping  from  rocks,  jouncing  over 
hollows.  They  took  it  in  all  ways,  astride,  kneeling,  breast- 
wise,  haunch-wise.  It  was  a  youthful,  exhilarating,  cock- 
brained  winter,  New  England  dytharimb. 

"  This  is  music,"  said  one  boy. 

"  Something  of  the  broomstick  order — a  fellow  gets 
thwacked  most  to  death,"  replied  a  second. 

"  There  goes  Judah  Weeks,  his  trotters  are  getting  up 
in  the  world,"  cried  a  third. 

"  Old  Had  is  hard  upon  him,"  rejoined  the  second  speaker. 

"  He  always  is  upon  the  boys,  but  we  get  some  fun  out 
of  him,  don't  we  ?  "  added  the  first. 

"  Spitfire  is  as  skittish  as  the  Deacon's  sorrel  colt ;  Jude 
might  have  known  he  would  have  got  cast,"  interposed  the 
third. 

«'  I  declare,  how  they  ache,"  said  Judah,  blowing  his  red 
snow-dripping  fingers,  as  he  joined  the  ups. 


233 


"  Clear  the  coop !  "  cried  all  hands,  "  here  comes  a  strad- 
dle-bug." But  the  rider,  it  happened  to  be  Obed,  losing 
his  balance,  his  sled  bolted,  raking  and  hackling  the  crust, 
and  scattering  the  glittering  dust  on  every  side,  while  the 
luckless  lad  himself  tumbled  headlong  to  the  ground. 

«  Hurt,  Obed  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  No,"  replied  the  youth,  trying  to  appear  brave. 

"  Does  your  Harm  know  you  are  out  ?  "  asked  one  of  the 
large  boys. 

"  She  said  I  might  come !  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  will  cure  cold  fingers  ?  "  said  Judah. 

"Take  garlic  and  saffron' blows,  and  bile  um  an  hour 
and  drink  it  just  as  you  are  gittin'  into  bed,  and  it  '11  cure 
any  cold  that  ever  was,  Mann  says,"  replied  Obed. 

"  There  go  Washington  and  Napoleon !  "  cried  several 
voices  ;  "  Old  Bony  '11  beat  as  true  as  guns  ;  she's  all-fired 
swift." 

"  Peggy's  Hummin'  Bird  '11  beat  any  thing,"  said  Obed. 
"  She  '11  go  like  nutcakes,"  an  allusion  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  making,  founded  on  a  favorite  dish  his  mother 
cooked  for  him  every  Saturday  night. 

"  Guess  Racer  '11  give  her  a  try,  or  any  thing  there  is  on 
the  ground,"  answered  one  of  the  larger  boys,  Seth  Penrose, 
son  of  the  Deacon's.  "  Pox  me !  if  these  Injins  put  their 
tricks  on  me  as  they  do  on  daddy." 

"  Sh' !  eh' !  Seth,"  whispered  Judah,  "  you  didn't  talk  so 
•when  you  was  digging  her  out  of  the  woods.  We  don't 
have  such  a  time  as  this  every  day.  Let  us  make  the  best 
of  it" 

"  Ho  ho,  hoop  ho !  "  rang  along  the  ranks  as  they  reached 

the  top  of  the  hill.      Something  was  in  prospect.      Below 

were  seen  two  collections  of  boys,  each  hauling  with  might 

and  main  at  an  outlandish  structure.      "  A  race  !  a  race !  " 

20* 


234  MARGARET. 

"  Hoora  for  the  Old  Confederation ! "  shouted  some, "  Hoora 
for  the  Federal  Constitution  !  "  echoed  others,  as  the  objects 
of  their  attention  drew  near.  These  were  rude  sapling 
runners,  surmounted  by  crockery  crates. 

The  boys,  in  whom  the  strong  political  feeling  of  the 
time  could  not  well  fail  to  develop  itself,  had  planned  an 
adventure,  and  were  about  to  test  and  signalize  their 
respective  merits  and  capabilities  by  a  race  in  which  gro- 
tesqueness  and  temerity,  more  than  anything  else,  seemed 
to  be  the  combatants.  Their  ark-like  chariots  being  duly 
disposed,  were  soon  filled,  some  of  the  boys  sitting  in  front 
to  steer,  while  others  performed  like  office  behind.  They 
started  off  in  high  spirits  and  amidst  a  general  enthusiasm. 
They  skewed,  brustled  and  bumped  along,  the  crates  wab- 
bled and  warped  from  side  to  side,  the  riders  screamed, 
cross-bit,  frumped  and  hooted  at  each  other;  they  lost 
control  of  their  crazy  vehicles,  their  bows  struck  and  parted 
with  a  violent  rebound ;  one  went  giddying  round  and 
round,  fraying  and  sputtering  the  snow,  and  dashed  against 
a  tree  ;  the  other  whirling  into  the  same  line  was  plunged 
headlong  into  the  first.  It  was  a  new  style  of  salmagundi ; 
some  of  the  boys  were  doused  into  each  other,  some  were 
jolled  against  the  tree,  some  sent  grabbling  on  their  faces 
down  the  hill ;  here  one  was  plumped  smack  on  the  ice, 
there  another,  after  being  sufficiently  whisked  and  shaken, 
was  left  standing.  There  was  a  shout  from  the  top  of  the 
hill,  and  a  smothered  response  from  below,  then  a  clearer 
shout,  and  at  last  a  full-toned  hoora.  None  were  seriously 
hurt  ;  who  was  ever  hurt  sliding  down  hill  ?  Yet  what 
with  their  lumbering  gear  staved  to  atoms,  splinters,  nails, 
and  the  violence  of  the  concussion,  it  was  a  wonder  some 
were  not  killed. 

The  call  was  now  for  a  single  race.     Twenty  or  more  of 


WINTER.  235 

the  sleds  were  drawn  into  a  line,  Margaret's  and  Obed's 
among  the  rest.  The  fence  at  the  foot  of  the  Pasture  was 
the  ordinary  terminus  of  their  slides  ;  but  they  sometimes 
went  farther  than  this.  Crossing  Grove  Street,  and  an 
orchard  in  the  neighborhood,  they  could  even  reach  the 
Green ; — to  gain,  by  methods  unimpeachable,  the  farthest 
point  on  which  was  the  stake,  and  comprised  a  distance  of 
nearly  half  a  mile.  The  girls  sat  with  their  skirts  trussed 
about  their  ankles,  and  the  boys  took  postures  as  they  liked 
best.  The  signal  was  made,  and  they  flushed  away.  Fall- 
ing into  all  sorts  of  order,  some  went  crank  ling  and  sheer- 
ing, some  described  somersets,  others  were  knocked  stern- 
foremost  ;  but  on,  on,  they  flew,  skittering,  bowling,  sluice- 
like,  mad-like;  Margaret  glided  over  the  mounds,  she 
leaped  the  hollows,  going  on  with  a  ricochet  motion, 
pulsating  from  swell  to  swell,  humming,  whizzing,  the  fine 
grail  glancing  in  her  eyes  and  fuzzing  her  face  ;  her  hood 
fell  back  over  her  shoulders,  her  hair  streamed  bandrols  in 
the  wind ;  she  reined  her  sled-rope  as  if  it  had  been  the 
snaffle  of  a  high-spirited  horse :  she  passed  the  first  fence, 
and  the  second — others  were  near  her — some  lodged  on  the 
fences,  some  dropped  in  the  street.  Three  or  four  sleds 
were  in  full  chase  through  the  orchard,  they  gained  the 
Green,  where  momentum  exhausted  itself.  Margaret  was 
evidently  foremost  and  farthest. 

"  She  hitched,"  said  Seth  Penrose,  somewhat  angrily. 

"  I  didn't,"  said  Margaret,  somewhat  excited. 

"  She  didn't  hitch,"  observed  little  Job  Luce,  who  had  been 
hovering  about  the  hill  all  the  morning  watching  the  sport, 
and  now  crept  to  the  Green  to  see  them  come  in. 

"J  thought  Spitfire  was  up  to  anything,"  out  spoke  Judah 
Weeks,  jumping  from  his  snow-bespattered  sled ;  "  but  she 
is  beat." 


ZOb  MAUGAUET. 

Margaret  had  indeed  won  the  race,  and  that  without  a 
miracle.  Chilion,  her  mechanical  genie,  had  constructed 
her  sled  in  the  best  manner  of  the  best  materials,  and  shod 
it  with  steel.  In  her  earliest  years  he  inured  her  to  the 
weather,  hauled  her  on  the  snows  before  she  could  walk, 
made  her  coast  as  soon  as  she  could  sit  a  sled,  graduated 
her  starting  points  up  Indian's  Head,  so  that  she  became 
equal  to  any  roughness  or  steepness,  and  could  accomplish 
all  possible  distances. 

"  Who  beat  ?  who  beat  ?  "  asked  a  score  of  breathless 
voices  rushing  to  the  spot. 

"  Little  Molly  Hart,"  roundly  answered  Judah. 

"  The  wicked  Injin  didn't  beat  nuther,"  rejoined  Seth. 

"  She  did  beat  teu,"  interposed  Obed.  "  I  know  she 
did." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  did,  Granny  ?  "  thundered  Seth. 

"  'Cause  Hummin'  Bird  can  beat  any  thing,  and  I  know 
she  did,"  replied  Obed. 

"  You  are  done  for,"  said  one  or  another  to  Seth. 

"  1  an't  done  for — she  hitched,"  persisted  the  sturdy 
rival. 

"  I  guess  she  didn't  hitch,"  argued  little  Isabel  Weeks, 
"  'cause  Ma  says  good  children  don't  cheat ;  and  she  is  good, 
'cause  Ma  says  good  children  helps  their  ma's,  and  she 
helps  her  ma." 

"  I  Jcnow  she  didn't,"  repeated  Job,  "  'cause  I  was  here 
and  saw  it." 

"  Bawh!  Ramshorn!  "  blurted  the  indignant  Seth,  thrash- 
ing about  and  by  a  side-trick  knocking  Job  on  the  hard 
crust. 

"  He  must  pick  him  up  ;  he's  a  poor  lame  boy,"  said 
Isabel ;  "  Jude,  take  hold  of  his  feet." 

"  I'll  help  you,"  said  Margaret. 


WINTER.  237 

"  Don't  touch  him  ! "  exclaimed  Obed,  addressing  Marga- 
ret. .  "  He's — he's — he'll  kill  ye,  he'll  pizen  ye,  he'll  give 
ye  the  itch.  He's  a  ghost." 

"He  won't  hurt  you,"  replied  Isabel,  "  its  only  little  Job 
Luce  with  a  crook  in  his  back,  Ma  says  ;  and  it's  handy  to 
lift  by.  Up  with  him." 

They  placed  the  unfortunate  lad  on  Margaret's  sled,  and 
the  two  girls  drew  him  to  his  mother's.  They  went  on  the 
crust,  with  the  road  two  or  three  feet  below  them,  straight 
and  narrow,  fluted  through  the  solid  plane  of  the  snow. 
They  passed  sleighs  or  cutters  that  were  what  we  should 
now  call  large  and  heavy,  with  high  square  backs  like  a 
settle,  and  low  square  foot-boards,  and  looking  naked 
and  cold,  without  buffalo,  bearskin  or  blanket.  They 
carried  Job  into  the  house  and  deposited  him  in  a  low 
chair  by  the  fire.  Mistress  Luce,  a  wan,  care-worn,  ailing 
looking  woman,  yet  having  a  gentle  and  placid  tone  of 
voice,  was  binding  shoes.  The  bright  sunlight  streamed 
into  the  room,  quite  paling  and  quenching  flames  and  coals 
in  the  fireplace.  A  picture  hung  on  the  walls,  an  embroid- 
ery, floss  on  white  satin,  representing  a  woman  leaning 
mourningly  on  an  urn,  and  a  willow  drooping  over  her. 
The  woman  did  not  appear  to  be  at  all  excited  by  her 
boy's  misfortune,  only  the  breeze  of  her  prevailing  sorrow, 
that  sometimes  lulled,  seemed  to  blow  up  afresh  a  little,  as 
she  resumed  her  seat  after  attending  to  his  wants. 

"  He  gets  worse  and  worse,"  she  sighed, — "  we  did  all  we 
could." 

"  Won't  he  grow  straight  and  stout  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  Alas  !  "  she  answered,  "  a  whippoorwill  sung  on  the 
willow  over  the  brook  four  nights  before  he  was  born  ; — 
we  had  him  drawn  through  a  split  tree,  but  he  never  got 
better." 


238  MARGARET. 

"  Whippoorwills  sing  every  night  most  at  the  Pond  in  the 
summer,"  said  Margaret. 

"  I  hare  heard  them  a  great  many  times,"  added  Isabel. 
"  Ma  says  they  won't  hurt  us  if  we  are  only  good." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  responded  the  woman,  with  a  quick 
shuddering  start. 

"  Ma  says  that  they  only  hurt  wicked  people,"  continued 
Isabel. 

"I  always  knew  it  was  a  judgment  on  account  of  my 
sins." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  asked  Margaret  anxiously. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  answered  the  Widow,  "  only  I  am  a 
great  sinner ;  if  you  could  hear  the  Parson  preach  you 
would  think  so  too.  I  just  read  in  my  Bible  what  God 
says,  '  Because  you  have  sinned  against  the  Lord,  this  is 
come  upon  you.' " 

"  I  saw  Job  at  the  Meeting  one  day,"  said  Margaret ; 
"  he  recited  the  catechism  so  well.  Do  you  know  what  it 
meant  ?  "  she  continued,  turning  to  the  boy. 

"  If  I  do  not,  Mammy  does,"  replied  the  latter.  "  But 
I  know  the  whippoorvvill's  song." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  asked  Margaret ;  "  can  you  say  it  ?  " 

"  No,  only  I  hear  it  every  night." 

"  In  the  winter  time  ?  " 

"  Yes,  after  I  go  to  bed." 

"  Do  you  have  dreams  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  replied  the  boy,  "  only  I  hear 
whippoorwill.  It  sings  in  the  willow  over  the  urn,  and 
sings  in  here,"  he  said,  pointing  to  his  breast.  "  I  shall  die 
of  whippoorwill." 

"  O  Father  in  heaven ! "  groaned  the  mother  bitterly, 
yet  with  an  air  of  resignation,  "  it  is  just." 

"  It  sings,"  added  the  boy,  "  in  the  moonshine,  I  hear  it 


WINTER.  239 

in  the  brook  in  the  summer,  and  among  the  flowers,  and  the 
grasshoppers  sing  it  to  me  when  the  sun  goes  down,  and  it 
sings  in  the  Bible.  I  shall  die  of  whippoorwill." 

"  How  he  talks  !  "  said  Isabel.  "I  guess  Ma  wouldn't 
like  to  have  me  stay,  only  Job  is  a  good  boy,  he  says  his 
prayers  every  night,  and  don't  kill  the  little  birds,  like  the 
other  boys,  and  Ma  says  he  will  go  to  heaven  when  he 
dies.  I  wish  they  wouldn't  tease  him  so." 

A  horn  was  heard,  and  Isabel  said  it  was  her  dinner 
time,  and  Margaret  must  go  with  her. 

"  Good-by,  Job,"  said  Margaret,  "  in  the  summer  I  will 
come  and  see  you  again,  and  you  must  come  up  to  the 
Pond,  I  will  show  you  my  bird-book,  and  you  shall  sail  on 
the  water." 

Esquire  Weeks,  who  lived  nearly  opposite  the  Widow 
Luce's,  was  an  extensive  farmer.  Mistress  Weeks  was  the 
mother  of  fourteen  children,  all  born  within  less  than  twice 
that  number  of  years,  and  living  and  cherished  under  the 
same  roof. 

*  A  new  one  to  dinner,  hey,  Miss  Bell  ?  "  said  her  mother. 
"  So,  so;  just  as  your  Pa  always  said,  one  more  wouldn't 
make  any  difference.  Take  your  places — I  don't  know 
how  to  cut  the  pudding  downwise,  crosswise — one,  two, 
three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven.  Eleven, 
where  are  they  all  ?  Don't  I  count  straight  ?  " 

"  John,  Nahum,  and  the  men  have  gone  into  the  woods, 
Ma,"  said  Bethia. 

"  I  am  sure  I  had  fifteen  plates  put  on,"  remarked  the 
mother. 

"  Washington  hurt  his  hand,  and  Dolly  you  said  wasn't 
old  enough  to  come  yet,"  said  Bethia. 

"  I  like  to  have  forgotten  the  dear  innocent,"  answered 
the  mother,  laughing.  "I  don't  remember  any  thing  since 
we  had  so  many  children.  Lay  to " 


240  MARGAKET. 

"  Mabel  hasn't  a  piece,"  observed  Helen. 

"  Can't  I  get  it  right? "  said  the  mother.  "  Girls  I  tell 
you  all,  study  arithmetic.  If  I  had  known  what  a  family  I 
was  going  to  bring  up,  I  should  have  learnt  mine  better. 
Arithmetic  is  the  best  thing  in  a  family,  next  to  the  Bible/' 

"  And  a  good  husband,"  interposed  Esq.  Weeks. 

His  wife  laughed  assent.  "  But,"  she  added,  "  I  recom- 
mend to  my  children  to  take  up  arithmetic,  numeration, 
addition,  subtraction,  division  and  all  the  compounds,  prac- 
tice, tare  and  trett,  loss  and  gain. — You've  come  all  the 
way  from  the  Pond,  Miss  Margery.  How  is  your  Ma'am  ? 
I  really  forgot  to  ask.  It's  pretty  cold  weather,  good  deal 
of  snow,  comes  all  in  a  bunch,  just  like  children.  And  you 
liked  to  have  been  killed  in  the  tornado  ?  If  it  had  been 
our  little  Belle  how  we  should  have  felt." 

"  And  me  too  ?  "  asked  the  little  Mabel. 

"  Yes,  you  too,  can't  spare  any  of  you.  Only  be  good 
children,  be  good  children,  eat  all  you  want." 

After  dinner  Margaret  said  she  would  go  and  see  Mas- 
ter Elliman,  and  Isabel  went  with  her.  At  the  Widow 
Small's,  the  Master's  boarding  house,  they  were  told  he 
was  over  the  way,  at  the  Parson's ;  whither  they  directed 
their  steps.  The  house  of  Parson  Welles  stood  on  the  cor- 
ner, as  you  turned  from  South  Street  up  the  Brandon,  or 
No.  4,  road.  Isabel  leading  the  way,  they  entered  without 
knocking,  and  made  directly  for  the  Parson's  study.  The 
Parson  and  the  Master  were  sitting  over  the  fire,  with  their 
backs  towards  the  door,  smoking  pipes  with  very  long  tails, 
and  engaged  in  earnest  conversation,  so  much  so  that  the 
Master  only  nodded  to  the  girls,  and  the  Parson,  who  was  a 
little  deaf,  did  not  notice  them  at  all.  Isabel  held  her 
breath,  and  made  a  low  courtesy  to  the  Parson's  back, 
while,  Margaret  stood  motionless,  and  casting  curious  glances 


241 


about  the  room.  The  Parson,  whose  hair  was  shaved 
close  to  his  head,  wore  a  red  velvet  cap,  and  had  on  in 
place  of  his  public  suit  of  black,  a  long,  bluish  brown  linen 
dressing-gown,  which  his  wife  had  probably  wove  for  him 
at  some  by-gone  period.  The  room  had  small  windows, 
was  wainscotted  and  painted  a  dark  green,  and  ren- 
dered still  darker  by  tobacco  smoke.  There  was  a  book- 
shelf on  the  wall,  and  small  portraits  in  black  frames  sim- 
ilar to  those  Margaret  saw  at  the  Master's  ;  the  sand  on  the 
floor  was  streaked  in  whimsical  figures,  and  on  a  black 
stout  legged  table  lay  paper,  ink,  and  some  manuscript  ser- 
mons of  a  size  we  should  now  call  diminutive,  not  bigger 
than  this  book. 

"  Touching  objections,  Master  Elliman,"  continued  the 
Parson,  laying  his  pipe  on  his  hand,  "  fourteenthly,  it  is 
calumniously  asserted  by  the  opposers  of  divine  truth  that 
on  this  hypothesis  God  made  men  to  damn  them  ;  but  we  say 
God  decreed  to  make  man,  and  made  him  neither  to  damn 
him  nor  to  save  him,  but  for  his  own  glory,  which  end  is 
answered  in  them  some  way  or  another." 

"Whether  they  are  damned  or  not?"  answered  the 
Master. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Parson,  "  inasmuch  as  that  is  not  the 
thing  considered,  but  rather  the  executing  of  his  own 
decrees,  and  the  expression  of  his  proper  sovereignty,  who 
will  be  glorified  in  all  things.  The  real  question  is,  whether 
man  was  considered  in  the  mind  of  God,  as  fallen  or  unfallen, 
as  to  be  created  or  creatable,  or  as  created  but  not  fallen. 
But  the  idea  of  things  in  the  divine  Mind  is  not  as  in  ours. 
God  understands  all  things  per  genesin,  we  understand 
them  'per  analysin.  Hence  going  back  into  the  divine 
Mind,  a  borigine,  we  first  seek  the  status  quo  of  the  idea. 
In  that  idea  came  up  a  vast  number  of  individuals  of  the 

VOL.  i.  21. 


242  MARGARET. 

human  specie  as  creatable,  some  as  fallen,  others  as 
unfallen.  He  did  not  create  them  to  cause  them  to  fall " 

"  But  he  made  them  fall  that  they  might  be  created " 

"  Now  this  idea  considered  as  an  active  volition  is  God's 
decree,  and  this  decree  going  into  effect  creates  man  on  the 
earth ;  some  predestined  to  everlasting  life,  some  to  ever- 
lasting death.  And  here  the  Universalists  do  greatly  err, 
not  perceiving  that  God  is  equally  glorified  in  the  damna- 
tion as  the  salvation  of  his  creatures :  so,  St.  Paul  to  the 
Romans,  ix.  17,  18,  19.  My  pipe  is  out,  and  we  must 
apply  to  King  Solomon  to  help  us  in  this  matter." 

"  Yea,  verily,"  responded  the  Master. 

This  King  Solomon,  we  should  explain,  was  a  large  .sil- 
ver snuff-box,  with  a  mother-of-pearl  lid,  on  which  was 
carved  the  interview  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba  and  the  afore- 
mentioned king,  a  utensil  that  Parson  Welles  carried  in  his 
deep  waistcoat  pocket,  and  the  contents  of  which  he  and 
the  Master  partook  freely  in  the  intervals  of  smoking. 

"  Why  should  man  reply  against  God  ?  "  pursued  the 
Parson. 

"  A  very  unreasonable  thing  indeed,"  quoth  the  attentive 
auditor. 

"  The  riches  of  God's  mercy  do  alone  save  us  from  the 
infernal  designs  of  reprobate  men.  Those  who  oppose  the 
divine  decrees  would  soon  have  Satan  in  our  midst — as 
truly  whom  do  I  now  behold  ?  " 

The  worthy  minister  surely  did  not  mean  to  call  Margaret 
the  Evil  One, — yet  this  exclamation,  coupled  as  it  was  with 
a  startled  recognition  of  the  face  and  sudden  sense  of  the 
presence  of  the  child,  seemed  to  imply  as  much. 

But  the  affectionate  pedagogue,  quick  to  notice  and  to 
arrest  any  insinuation  of  this  sort,  with  a  quiet  adroitness, 
instantly  brought  Margaret  to  the  Parson's  knee,  and  for- 
mally introduced  her. 


PARSON   WELLES.  243 

"  I  understand,"  answered  the  venerable  man.  "  Of  the 
Hart  family  in  Lichfield  ;  I  knew  her  grandfather  well. 
He  was  an  able  defender  of  the  truth." 

"  She  is  from  the  Pond,  sir,"  added  the  Master.  "  Didy- 
mus  Hart,  alias  Pluck's  daughter." 

"  Indeed !  of  the  Ishmaelitish  race,"  responded  the 
Parson,  laughing.  "  If  she  could  be  baptized  and  jine  the 
catechizing  class ;  appinted  means  whereby  the  Atone- 
ment is  made  efficacious.  Isabel,"  he  continued,  address- 
ing the  companion  of  Margaret,  "you  are  sprung  of  a 
godly  ancestry,  and  the  blood  of  many  holy  persons  runs 
in  your  veins.  See  that  ye  despise  not  the  Divine  goodness." 

The  Master  took  Margaret  about  the  room,  and  showed 
her  the  books  and  pictures.  Of  the  former  were  the 
writings  of  the  most  distinguished  Divines  on  both  Conti- 
nents ;  there  were  "  Prey  taken  from  the  Strong,  or  an 
Account  of  a  Recovery  from  the  Dangerous  Errors  of 
Quakerism  ; "  "  Thatcher's  Sermons  on  "  the  Eternal  Pun- 
ishment of  the  Finally  Impenitent ;  "  "  An  Arrow  against 
Profane  and  Promiscuous  Dancing,  drawn  out  of  the  Quiver 
of  the  Scriptures  ;  "  "  Owen  on  Sin  ;  "  "  Randolph's  Re- 
vision of  Socinian  Arguments ; "  &c.,  &c.  The  latter  were 
chiefly  faces  of  the  old  clergy ;  in  large  wigs,  long  flowing 
curls,  skull-caps,  some  with  moustaches  and  imperials,  all 
in  bands  and  robes. 

Parson  "Welles  was  the  contemporary  of  Bellamy,  Chaun- 
cey,  Langdon,  Cooper,  Byles,  Hopkins,  West,  Styles  and 
others  ;  with  some  of  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  familiar 
acquaintance.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Edwards,  and  after- 
wards the  friend  and  correspondent  of  that  divine.  "White- 
field  £nd  his  labors,  the  latter  especially,  he  never  brooked, 
and  would  not  suffer  him  to  preach  in  Livingston. 


244  MARGARET. 

The  Master  presently  retired  with  Margaret  to  his  rooms, 
where  she  accomplished  her  errand,  that  of  getting  his  ad- 
vice respecting  something  she  was  studying,  and  where  he 
also  gave  her  some  books.  Parting  with  her  little  friend, 
Isabel,  she  went  back  to  the  Green  for  Obed,  and  returned 
home  ; — where  for  the  present  we  leave  her. 


PART    II. 


YOUTH. 


PART  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SPRING. — ROSE. — MARGARET    KEEPS    SCHOOL. — SUNDRY    MAT- 
TERS.— MR.    ANONYMOUS. 

THIS  Part  commences  with  an  omission  of  five  or  six 
years,  the  particulars  of  which  one  familiar  with  life  at  the 
Pond  will  be  at  no  loss  to  supply.  Margaret  has  pursued 
the  tenor  of  her  way,  even  or  uneven,  as  the  case  may  be  ; 
assisting  her  mother,  entertaining  her  father,  the  companion 
of  Chilion,  and  the  pupil  of  the  Master.  If  variety  in  unity 
be  the  right  condition  of  things,  then  her  life  has  been  quite 
philosophical.  She  has  made  considerable  progress  in  her 
studies,  pursued  for  the  most  part  in  a  line  suggested  by  the 
peculiarities  of  her  instructor. 

It  is  spring  ;  Hash  is  about  beginning  his  annual  labor 
of  making  maple  sugar  and  burning  coal;  Margaret  has 
promised  him  her  aid,  and  then  she  is  to  have  her  own  time. 
She  carries  the  alder  spouts  to  the  Maples,  rights  the 
troughs  that  have  been  lying  overturned  under  the  trees, 
and  kindles  a  fire  beneath  the  large  iron  kettle  that  hangs 
from  a  pole  supported  between  two  rocks.  Wreathing  the 
trailing  arbutus  in  her  hair  and  making  a  baldric  of  the 
ground-laurel,  with  a  wooden  yoke  stretched  across  her 
shoulders  she  carries  two  pails  full  of  sap  from  the  trees  to 
the  boiler.  With  a  stick  having  a  bit  of  pork  on  the  end, 
she  graduates  the  walloping  sirup  when  it  is  likely  to 


248  MARGARET. 

overflow,  while  her  brother  brings  more  sap  from  the 
remote  and  less  accessible  part  of  the  camp.  The  neigh- 
bors, boys  and  girls,  come  in  at  the  "sugaring  off;"  the 
"  wax  "  is  freely  distributed  to  be  cooled  on  lumps  of  snow 
or  the  axe-head  ;  some  toss  it  about  in  long,  flexile,  fantastic 
lines,  some  get  their  mouths  burnt,  all  are'  merry.  Her 
mother  "  stirs  it  off,"  and  a  due  quantity  of  the  "  quick  "  and 
"  alive  "  crystal  sweet  is  the  result,  a  moiety  of  which  is 
destined  to  the  Smiths,  at  No.  4,  in  consideration  for  the  use 
of  the  lot,  and  another  portion  to  Deacon  Penrose's  for  other 
well-known  objects. 

The  coal-pit,  lying  farther  up  the  road,  on  the  Via 
Salutaris,  next  demanded  attention.  She  helped  clear  off 
the  rubbish,  and  remove  the  sod  to  make  a  foundation  for 
the  kiln  and  prevent  the  fire  spreading.  She  lent  a  hand 
also  in  stacking  the  wood,  covering  the  pile  with  turf,  and 
constructing  a  lodge  of  green  boughs,  where  her  brother 
would  stay  during  the  night ;  one  whole  night  she  herself 
watched  with  him.  Then  she  raked  up  the  chips  about  the 
house,  and  with  a  twig  broom  swept  the  dirt  from  the  new- 
springing  grass ;  she  hoed  out  the  gutter  where  the  water 
ran  from  the  cistern,  and  washed  and  aired  her  own 
little  chamber.  The  cackling  of  the  hens  drew  her  in 
search  of  their  eggs  in  the  manger  and  over  the  hay-mow 
in  the  barn.  So  four  or  five  weeks  pass  away,  and  her  own 
play-spell  comes,  if,  indeed,  her  whole  life  were  not  a  play- 
spell. 

She  would  replenish  her  flower-bed,  and  goes  into  the 
woods  to  gather  rare  plants.  She  has  books  of  natural 
history  with  which  the  Master  kept  her  supplied.  The 
forests  at  their  first  leafing  and  infloresence  present  an 
incipient  autumual  appearance,  iii  the  variety  of  colors  and 
marked  divisions  of  the  trees,  but  the  whole  effect  is  thinned, 


THE   BIKDS.  249 

and  softened.  The  distant  hills  have  a  yellowish  gray, 
merging  into  a  dim  silver  look,  and  might  be  taken  for 
high  fields  of  grass  in  a  bright  dewy  morning.  She  turned 
over  logs  and  stones,  and  let  loose  to  the  light  and  air  tribes 
of  caterpillars,  beetles  and  lizzards,  that  had  harbored  there 
all  winter.  The  ants  open  their  own  habitations  by  demol- 
ishing the  roof,  which  they  convert  into  a  redoubt ;  and  she 
watched  them  coming  up  from  their  dark  troglodital  abodes 
bringing  the  fine  grit  in  their  teeth,  and  stepped  with  a 
kind  caution  among  these  groups  of  dumb,  moneyless, 
industrious  Associationists.  Toads,  piebald,  chunk-shaped, 
shrugged  and  wallowed  up  from  their  torpid  beds,  and 
winked  their  big  eyes  at  her. 

The  birds  are  going  on  with  their  grand  opera,  and  she 
and  the  sun,  who  is  just  raising  his  eye  glass  above  the 
trees,  are  the  sole  unoccupied  spectators.  Her  father  per- 
haps has  some  interest  in  the  scene  ;  he  sits  in  the  front 
door,  pipe  in  mouth,  the  smoke  rolling  over  his  ruddy  pate 
and  muffling  his  blear  eyes,  but  he  contrives  to  laugh  lus- 
tily, and  his  flabby  dimensions  shake  like  a  bowl  of  jelly. 
She  has  caught  a  harry -long-legs  and  holds  it  by  one  of  its 
shanks,  while  she  very  soberly  inspects  the  book  before  her, 
to  find  out  more  about  it  than  it  is  disposed  to  tell  of  itself. 

Chilion  used  to  love  to  go  into  the  woods  with  her  and 
point  out  the  different  birds,  gather  rare  flowers,  and  dis- 
cover green  knolls  and  charming  frescoes  where  she  could 
sit.  But  he  is  lame  now,  and  cannot  walk  far,  having  never 
recovered  from  the  injury  he  received  some  years  before, 
searching  for  her  in  the  windfall.  Besides,  he  never  said 
much,  and  what  value  he  put  upon  things  that  interested 
her,  she  could  never  precisely  understand.  He  is  engaged 
withal  thwacking  with  his  axe  a  long  white  ash  stick,  the 
successive  layers  of  which  being  loosened,  he  tears  off  to 


•i*^ .«'  •  '  ** '"  .<X  V  «V  •  V  •  •* 

250  ~V  "**''*  MARGARET. 

make  baskets  with,  which  has  become  almost  his  sole 
employment.  So  she  enjoys  the  world  quite  alone,  and  not 
the  less  for  that,  since  she  has  always  done  so. 

The  place  flows  with  birds,  and  they  flow  with  song ; 
robins,  wrens,  song-sparrows,  thrushes,  cat-birds,  cow- 
buntings,  goldfinches,  indigo  birds,  swallows,  martens ; 
loons  and  bitterns  on  the  water ;  and  deep  in  the  forest 
olive-backs,  veeries,  oven-birds,  to  say  nothing  of  a  huge 
turkey  gobbling  in  the  road,  a  rooster  crowing  on  the  fence, 
and  ducks  quacking  in  the  ditches.  A  varied  note  breaks 
upon  her,  which  if  she  is  able  to  distinguish,  she  can  do 
better  perhaps  than  some  of  our  readers,  who  will  hardly 
thank  us  for  giving  names  to  what  after  all  is  very  percep- 
tible to  the  practised  ear;  twittering,  chirping,  warbling, 
squeaking,  screaming,  shrieking,  cawing,  cackling,  hum- 
ming, cooing,  chattering,  piping,  whistling,  mewing,  hissing, 
trilling,  yelping. 

Chilion  is  passionately  attached  to  music  in  his  own  way, 
is  master  even  of  some  of  its  technicalities,  and  Marga- 
ret in  this  matter  is  his  pupil ;  and  it  requires  no  great 
effort  for  her  to  discern  a  general  hallelujah  in  this 
sylvan  concert ;  affetuoso,  con  dolce  and  con  furia  are 
agreeably  intermingled ;  nor  are  there  wanting  those  be- 
sides herself  to  encore  the  strain.  She  is  no  Priapus  to 
drive  the  birds  away ;  but  as  if  she  were  a  bramble-net, 
their  notes  are  caught  in  her  ears,  even  if  their  feet  are 
not  seized  by  her  fingers  as  they  winnow  the  air,  wheel, 
dive  and  dally  about  her.  They  frisk  in  the  trees,  pursue 
one  another  across  the  lots,  start  fugues  in  a  double  sense, 
compete  with  their  rivals,  clamor  for  their  mates,  sing 
amatory  and  convivial  ditties,  and  describe  more  ridottoes 
than  the  Italians. 

Could  we  suppose  sounds  to  be  represented  by  ribbons 


- -••  a . «-     r >i    >e, , 

SPRING    FLOWER*."-',  251 

*;;**.    *X  •,.&•&. 

of  different  colors,  and  the  fair  spirit  of  music  to  sit  in  the 
air  some  hundred  feet  from  the  ground,  having  in  her  hand 
a  knot  of  lutestrings  of  a  hundred  hues,  blue,  pink,  white, 
gold,  silver,  and  every  intermediate  and  combined  shade 
and  lustre,  and  let  them  play  out  in  the  sun  and  wind,  their 
twisting,  streaming,  snapping,  giddying,  glancing,  forking, 
would  be  a  fair  symbol  of  the  voices  of  the  birds  in  the  ear 
of  Margaret  on  this  warm  sunny  spring  morning. 

Howbeit,  the  profusion  of  Nature  offers  other  things  to 
her  attention  besides  the  birds  ;  or  rather  we  should  say  the 
good  Mother  of  all  gives  these  beautiful  voices  wherewith 
to  purify  the  sensibilities  of  her  children  and  animate  them 
in  their  several  pursuits.  Thus  enlivened  and  impelled, 
Margaret  entered  other  departments  of  observation. 

Shod  with  stout  shoes,  armed  with  a  constitution  inured 
to  all  forces  and  mixtures  of  the  elements,  supported  by  a 
resolution  that  neither  snakes,  bears,  or  a  man  could  easily 
abash,  she  penetrated  a  wet  sedgy  spot  near  the  margin  of 
the  Pond,  where  she  found  clusters  of  tall  osmunds, 
straight  as  an.  arrow,  with  white  downy  stems  and  black 
seed-leaves,  curling  gracefully  at  the  top  in  the  form  of  a 
Corinthian  capital,  and  shining  pearl-like  in  the  sun  with 
their  dew-spangled  chaffy  crowns  ;  the  little  polypods  with 
green,  feathery,  carrot-shaped  fronds,  penetrating  the  solid 
dry  heaps  of  their  decayed  ancestry  ;  and  horsetails  with 
storied  ruffs  of  supple  spines :  farther  along  were  the 
fleecy  buds  of  the  mouse-ear,  bringing  beautiful  cloud-life 
from  the  dank  leaden  earth ;  young  mulleins,  velvety,  white, 
tender,  fit  to  ornament  the  gardens  of  Queen  Mab ;  and 
buttercup-sprouts  with  dense  green  leaves,  waxen  and 
glistening :  in  the  edge  of  the  woods  she  gathered  straw- 
colored,  pendulous. flowers  of  the  chaste  bell-wort;  liver- 
leaves,  with  cups  full  of  snow-capped  threads  ;  mosses,  with 


252  MARGARET. 

slender  scarlet-tipped  stems,  some  with  brown  cups  like 
acorns,  others  with  crimson  flowers  ;  there  were  also 
innumerable  germs  of  golden  rod,  blue  vervain,  and  other 
flowers,  which  at  a  later  season  should  fill  the  hedges  and 
enliven  the  roads. 

In  the  woods  a  solitary  white  birch,  bedizened  with  long 
yellow,  black-spotted  flowers,  pulsating  in  the  wind,  and 
having  a  scarlet  tanager  sitting  in  its  thin  sunny  boughs, 
attracted  her  eye  by  its  own  gentle  beauty  ;  in  the  grass 
stood  hundreds  of  snowdrops,  like  a  bevy  of  girls  in  white 
bonnets  trooping  through  a  meadow  ;  quantities  of  the 
slender,  pink  flowering  wintergreen  grew  among  the  white 
dogweed  ;  and  the  twin-flower  interlaced  the  partridge 
berry.  Within  the  forest  was  a  broad  opening,  where  she 
loved  to  walk,  and  which  at  this  time  disclosed  in  high 
perfection  the  beautiful  verdure  of  spring.  Here  were 
white  oaks  with  minute  white  flowers,  red  oaks  with  bright 
red  flowers,  red  maples  with  still  redder  flowers,  rock 
maples  with  salmon-colored  leaves,  as  it  were  birds  flutter- 
ing on  one  foot,  or  little  pirouetting  sylphs ;  a  growth  of 
white  birches  spread  itself  before  a  sombre  grove  of  pines, 
like  a  pea-green  veil.  The  path  was  strewn  with  old 
claret  boxberries,  gray  mosses,  brown  leaves,  freaked  with 
fresh  green  shoots  ;  and  what  with  the  flowers  of  the  trees 
illumined  by  the  sun  on  either  side,  one  could  imagine  her 
walking  an  antique  hall  with  tesseleated  floor  and  particolored 
gay  hangings.  This  opening  sloped  to  the  shore  of  the 
Pond,  where  under  another  clump  of  white  birches  she 
sat  down.  The  shadows  of  the  trees  refreshingly  invested 
her,  the  waves  struck  musically  upon  the  rocks,  and  in  the 
clear  air,  her  own  thoughts  sped  like  a  breath  away  ;  the 
vivacity  of  the  birds  was  qualified  by  the  advance  of  the 
day,  and  while  she  had  been  delighted  at  first  with  what 


SPUING   FLOWERS.  253 

she  saw,  all  things  now  subsided  into  harmony  with  what 
she  felt.  She  hummed  herself  in  low  song,  which  as  it  had 
not  rhyme,  and  perhaps  not  reason,  we  will  not  transcribe. 

Some  new  tide  of  sensation  bore  her  off,  and  she  went  up 
the  Via  Salutaris  to  the  brook  Cedron.  This  she  threaded 
as  far  as  the  Tree-Bridge ;  golden  blossoms  of  the  alder 
and  willow  overhung  the  dark  stream ;  she  passed  thickets 
of  wild  cherries  in  full  snowy  bloom ;  yellow  adder's  tongue 
diversified  green  cowslips,  pink  columbines  festooned  the 
gray  rocks,  red  newts  were  sunning  themselves  on  the 
pebbles  of  the  brook ;  she  saw  a  veery  building  its  nest  in 
a  branch  so  low  its  young  could  be  cradled  in  the  music  of 
the  stream ;  green,  lank  frogs  sprang  from  her  feet  into  the 
swift  eddies,  and  thrust  up  their  heads  on  the  other  side, 
like  their  cousins,  the  toads,  to  look  at  her ;  clear  water 
oozed  from  the  slushy  banks. 

Crossing  from  the  Via  Dolorosa,  through  the  Maples, 
she  came  to  rocks  that  abutted  the  south-east  boundary  line 
of  the  elevated  plain  on  which  lay  the  basin  of  the  Pond. 
Descending  this,  on  the  slope  below,  were  evergreens  ; 
hereabouts  also  she  discovered  the  splendid  dogwood,  and 
the  pretty  saxifrage. 

But  a  circumstance  occurred  that  quite  diverted  her  from 
these  things.  She  heard  a  sound  issuing  from  the  shady 
side  of  a  young  pine,  like  that  of  a  woman  singing  or 
murmuring  to  itself.  Stealing  to  the  tree,  through  the 
boughs,  she  beheld  a  young  lady  of  nearly  her  own  age 
reclined  on  the  dry  leaves,  whiling  herself  in  rending  to 
shreds  the  bright  crimson  flowers  of  the  red-bud  or  Judas 
tree,  and  uttering  plaintive  broken  sounds.  This  unknown 
person  was  delicately  fair,  with  a  fine  profile,  and  long 
locks  of  golden  hair  trailing  upon  her  neck  ;  her  hand  was 
snowy  white,  and  fingers  transparently  thin.  She  wore  a 

VOL.  i.  22 


254  MARGARET. 

white  red-sprigged  poplin,  a  small  blue  bonnet  lay  at  her 
side,  and  a  brocaded  camlet-hair  shawl  falling  from  her 
shoulders  discovered  a  bust  of  exquisite  proportions.  Her 
complexion  was  white,  almost  too  white  for  nature  or  health, 
and  her  whole  aspect  betokened  the  subsidence  and  with- 
drawal of  proper  youthful  vigor.  Margaret,  quite  spell- 
bound, gazed  in  silence.  The  young  lady  laughed  as  she 
scattered  the  flowers,  and  there  was  a  marvellous  beauty  in 
her  smile,  melancholy  though  it  seemed  to  be  ;  and  even  to 
Margaret's  eye,  who  was  not  an  adept  in  such  matters,  it 
rayed  out  like  the  shimmer  of  a  cardinal  bird  in  a  dark 
wood.  Margaret  thought  of  the  Pale  Lady  of  her  dreams, 
and  that  she  had  suddenly  dropped  from  the  skies.  She 
saw  the  young  lady  press  her  thin  fingers  to  her  eyes  as  if 
she  wept,  then  she  smiled  again,  and  that  smile  penetrated 
Margaret's  heart,  and  she  advanced  from  her  ambuscade, 
but  spider-like,  as  if  she  were  about  to  catch  some  fragile 
vision  of  the  fancy.  The  young  lady  sprang  up  at  the 
noise  and  ran.  Margaret  pursued,  and  with  her  familiarity 
with  the  woods  and  fleetness  of  foot,  she  gained  upon  the 
other,  who  turned  and  said  rather  abruptly,  "  Why  do  you 
follow  me  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  run  ?  "  answered  Margaret.  "  I  would 
not  hurt  you  ;  let  me  hear  your  voice — let  me  take  your 
hand,"  she  continued.  Her  tone  was  kind,  her  manner 
innocent,  and  the  young  lady  seemed  so  far  won  as  to  be 
willing  to  parley. 

She  rejoined,  "  I  sought  this  spot  to  be  away  from  the 
faces  of  all." 

"  How  strange  !  "  ejaculated  Margaret.  "  Where  is  your 
home?  Are  you  from  the  village?" 

"  I  have  no  home,  but  you  are  Molly  Hart,  whom  they 
have  told  me  about." 


N 
THE   STRANGER   YOUNG    LADY.  255 

"  I  am  Molly  Hart ;  but  say  who  are  you,  and  what  is 
your  name  ?" 

"  Those  are  questions  I  cannot  answer." 

"  You  look  very  unhappy." 

"  Were  you  ever  unhappy  ?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

"  Not  much,"  replied  Margaret,  "  I  have  always  been 
happy,  I  think." 

"  You  seem  to  be  fond  of  flowers,"  said  the  young  lady. 

"  Are  not  you  ?  " — 

"  I  used  to  be  ; — I  was  going  to  say,"  she  added, "  I  will 
help  you  carry  your  basket,  and  look  for  flowers  with 
you ;  only  you  must  not  ask  me  any  questions." 

"  Then  I  shall  want  to,"  said  Margaret. 

"  But  you  must  not,"  insisted  the  young  lady. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Margaret,  "you  will  be  another 
flower  and  bird  to  me,  and  equally  unknown  with  all  the 
rest ;  nor  will  you  give  me  less  pleasure  for  that  you  are 
unknown,  since  every  thing  else  is." 

"  Then  I  shall  like  you  very  much,  if  you  will  consent 
to  my  being  unknown ;  and  perhaps  in  that  way  we  can 
contrive  to  amuse  one  another." 

They  ascended  the  bluff,  and  returned  through  the  woods 
together. 

"  Have  you  found  the  snapdragon,  that  recoils  when  it  is 
touched  ?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

"  That  does  not  come  out  in  the  spring,"  said  Margaret. 
"  But  here  are  berries  of  the  witch-hazel  that  blossomed 
last  fall." 

"  And  under  our  feet  are  withered  dead  leaves,"  rejoined 
the  young  lady. 

•'•  But  they  shone  in  vigorous  starry  brilliancy,  after  the 
frosts  pinched  them,"  said  Margaret. 


25G  MARGARET. 

"  Here  is  the  morning  glory,"  said  the  young  lady,  as 
they  entered  the  Mowing,  "  that  lasts  but  one  hour." 

This  female,  as  we  have  said,  evinced  great  waste  of 
strength  ;  hervoice  was  reduced  in  a  corresponding  degree, 
though  it  was  sweet  and  clear  as  her  face  was  beautiful ; 
and  there  was  something  in  her  tone  and  manner  of  allu- 
sion that  signified  a  secret  unexpressed  state  of  being  which 
Margaret  could  not  fail  to  remark,  however  far  she  might 
be  removed  from  its  proper  comprehension  ;  and  her  replies 
took  the  turn  of  one  in  whose  breast,  intuitively,  will  float 
veiled  images  and  be  reflected  therefrom  indistinct  recog- 
nizances of  latent  deep  realities  in  the  breast  of  another. 

"  Look  at  this  blue  flag,"  she  said ;  "  our  neighbor,  a 
•wise  simpler,  declares  it  will  cure  a  host  of  diseases." 

"  The  stargrass  there,"  replied  the  other,  "  hides  itself 
in  the  rank  verdure,  and  only  asks  to  be." 

"  The  strawberry  is  very  modest  too,  but  its  delicious  fruit 
is  for  you  and  me,  and  every  body.  Shall  I  never  see  you 
again  ?  "  inquired  Margaret  emphatically.  "  Will  you  go 
away  as  suddenly  as  you  came  ?  Will  you  not  speak  to 
me  ?  Have  the  naturalists  given  no  account  of  such  a 
one  as  you  ?  You  say  you  have  no  home — do  you  live 
under  the  trees  ?  Where  did  you  get  that  shawl  and  bon- 
net ?  No  name  ?  No  genus,  no  species  ?  Come  into  the 
house  and  let  Chilion  play  to  you." 

"  You  have  seen  the  pond  lily,"  was  the  reply,  playful 
but  sad,  "that  closes  its  cup  at  night,  and  sinks  into  the 
water." 

"  It  springs  up  the  next  morning  blooming  as  ever,''  said 
Margaret.  "  Besides,  if  only  one  had  appeared  in  my  life- 
time, I  should  be  tempted  to  plunge  in  after  it,  come  what 
might.  You  are  very  '  anagogical,'  as  my  Master  says, 


257 


strange  and  mysterious  I  mean,  like  a  good  many  other 
things.  You  remind  me  of  a  pale  beautiful  lady  I  have 
seen  in  my  dreams,  only  her  hair  is  black." 

"  The  blood-root,"  replied  the  imperturbable  unknown, 
"  when  it  is  broken  loses  its  red  juice." 

"  In  truth !  "  exclaimed  Margaret.  "  Yet  it  is  a  very 
pretty  flower.  I  have  a  whole  one  just  flowering  in  my 
bed.  Do  go  and  see  it.  You  love  flowers,  and  I  do  too,  and 
perhaps  they  will  talk  you  more  to  me." 

The  young  lady  shook  her  head,  "  I  cannot  go  now.  I 
am  at  the  Widow  Wright's ;  but  do  not  follow  me.  You 
are  very  happy,  you  say,  and  you  have  no  need  of  me ; 
you  are  quite  busy  too,  and  I  would  not  call  you  away." 

"  Do  give  me  a  name,"  urged  Margaret,  "  some  point 
that  I  can  seize  hold  upon  you  by,  be  it  ever  so  small.  I 
am  sure  I  shall  dream  about  you." 

"  Since  you  like  flowers,"  answered  the  young  lady,  "  you 
may  call  me  Rose,  but  one  without  color,  a  white  one." 

So  they  separated,  and  Margaret  went  to  her  house. 
From  the  stock  of  plants  she  had  gathered,  she  transferred 
to  her  beds  a  spring-beauty,  a  rhodora,  and  winter-green,  to 
grow  by  tbe  side  of  sweet  brier,  cardinal  flowers,  and  others. 
Chilion  brought  out  a  neatly  made  box  in  which  he  wished 
her  to  set  a  venus-shoe  or  ladies-slipper. 

It  was  not  singular  that  Margaret  should  desire  again  to 
see  the"  strange  young  lady,  who  was  called  Rose,  nor  was 
she  at  loss  for  opportunities  to  do  so.  She  pursued  her 
sedulously,  and  even  prevailed  with  her  to  come  to  her 
father's  The  spirit  of  Pluck  seemed  to  rally  this  sad 
being,  and  Chilion's  music  penetrated  and  charmed  her 
soul,  albeit  it  failed  to  reveal  the  secret  of  her  thoughts.  It 
was  of  different  kind  from  any  that  she  had  heard  before  ; 
it  operated  as  a  simple  melodious  incantation,  and  did  not, 
22* 


258  MARGARET. 

as  music  sometimes  does,  arouse  feelings  only  to  tantalize 
and  distress  them.  Chilion  played  in  a  wild  untutored 
way,  catching  his  ideas  from  his  own  simple  thoughts,  and 
from  what  of  nature  was  comprised  above  and  below  the 
horizon  of  the  Pond,  and  this  pleased  her.  Margaret, 
sensitively  alive  to  whatever  pertained  to  the  due  under- 
standing of  Rose,  sometimes  gave  her  brother  a  hint  at 
which  he  played;  but  there  was  developed  so  plain  an 
uneasiness  within  the  concealed  breast  of  the  stranger,  that 
both  were  fain  to  forbear. 

Rose  came  frequently  to  Pluck's  ;  she  loved  to  be  with 
Margaret  and  Chilion  ;  even  the  sullen  disposition  of  Hash 
she  evinced  a  facility  for  softening  by  her  playful  repartees 
and  beautiful  smiles.  She  gained  the  favor  of  Brown  Moll 
by  assisting  Margaret,  who  rising  in  domestic  as  well  as 
natural  science,  had  become  equal  to  carding  and  spinning. 
The  dog  too  was  not  insensible  to  her  tatractions,  but  with 
an  enlargement  of  heart  not  always  found  in  the  superior 
races,  while  he  fell  off  no  whit  in  his  original  attachments, 
he  recognized  her  as  a  new  lady-love,  obeyed  her  voice, 
followed  her  steps,  wagged  his  tail  at  her  smiles,  and 
leaped  forwards  to  meet  her  as  readily  as  he  did  Margaret. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  diverting  than  to  see  Brown 
Moll  weaving,  Margaret  spinning,  Rose  carding,  and  Pluck 
reduced  to  Margaret's  childhood  estate,  occupying  her  little 
stool,  quilling  ;  a  sight  often  seen. 

Rose  and  Margaret  walked  in  the  woods,  sailed  on  the 
Pond,  and  sometimes  read  together.  Now  also  the  pecu- 
liarities of  Rose  appeared.  She  would  absent  herself  from 
Pluck's  and  Margaret  whole  days  ;  she  would  stay  at  the 
Widow's,  between  whom  and  herself  some  relationship  was 
claimed,  and  work  silently  with  Obed  in  his  herb-beds, 
despite  the  most  urgent  solicitations  of  Margaret ;  she 


THE    MASTER   ON    SPELLING   BOOKS.  259 

resorted  alone  to  the  thickest  parts  of  the  forest.  No 
questionings,  no  attentions,  no  generosity  were  adequate  to 
dislodge  the  secret  that  evidently  labored  in  her  breast,  or 
a  part  of  which  she  may  have  been.  The  Widow,  and 
Obed,  who  took  his  cue  from  his  mother,  would  answer 
nothing  for  her ;  save  that  the  latter  called  her  his  cousin. 
At  times  she  was  cheerful,  talkative,  vivacious,  even  to 
exuberance  ;  in  the  same  moment  she  would  relapse  into  a 
thoughtful  and  preoccupied  state ;  not  unfrequently  she 
wept.  Margaret  learned  to  acquiesce  in  these  diversities, 
at  whatever  expense  of  baffled  solicitude.  She  was 
delighted  with  the  gushes  of  Rose's  sprightliness,  she  was 
overawed  by  her  hidden  pain,  as  by  some  great  mystery  of 
nature,  which  nevertheless  she  sometimes  essayed  critically 
to  explore,  sometimes  humanely  to  compose  ;  but  the  subject 
only  reminded  her  of  her  ignorance,  though  meanwhile  it 
haunted  her  with  new  and  indefinable  sensations  of  tender- 
ness and  reflective  philanthropy. 

In  the  latter  part  of  May  the  Master  appeared  at  the 
Pond,  his  thin  gray  face  agreeably  illumined  by  the  pleasing 
intelligence  he  bore,  this,  that  he  had  negotiated  the  Village 
School  for  Margaret.  However  Margaret  might  have 
regarded  this  proposal,  there  was  one  consideration  that 
prevailed  with  her  to  accept  it, — the  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ment of  the  family.  Pluck's  whole  estate  was  under 
mortgage  to  Mr.  Smith  of  No.  4,  the  original  proprietor, 
and  retained  indeed  from  year  to  year  with  a  diminishing 
prospect  of  redemption.  That  gentleman  in  fact  threatened 
an  ejectment,  and  if  relief  were  not  soon  afforded,  dismem- 
berment and  homelessness  might  at  any  moment  become 
their  lot. 

Pursuant  to  orders,  the  next  day  Margaret  paid  a  visit 
to  Master  Elliman's  to  receive  such  instructions  as  he  felt 


260  MARGARET. 

bound  to  communicate  relative  to  her  new  duties.  He 
gave  her  to  understand  that  there  existed  an  opposition  in 
the  minds  of  some  of  the  people  to  her  having  the  School, 
but  that  he  had  secured  the  appointment  through  Parson 
Welles,  whom  he  persuaded  to  his  views.  He  next  ad- 
vised her  as  to  the  books  to  be  used.  He  said  the 
children  would  read  daily  in  the  Psalter,  recite  every 
Saturday  morning  from  the  Primer,  and  as  to  the  Spelling 
Book,  the  only  remaining  channel  of  elementary  instruction, 
he  intimated  there  was  a  question.  He  informed  her  that 
he  learnt  from  Fenning's  Universal,  which  was  afterwards 
supplanted  by  the  New  England,  that  many  of  the  people 
were  clamorous  for  a  change,  which  had  been  effected  in 
most  of  the  towns  ;  that  one  wanted  Perry's  Only  Sure 
Guide,  another  Dilworth,  a  third  Webster's  First  Part ; 
and  that  he  and  Deacon  Hadlock,  who  agreed  in  little  else, 
had  hitherto  been  united  in  resisting  scholastic  innovations, 
but  the  time  was  come  when  he  supposed  a  concession  must 
be  made  to  the  wishes  of  the  public. 

"Compare,"  said  he,  "the  First  Part,  and  the  deific 
Universal.  Look  at  the  pictures  even.  Young  Noah,  who 
propounds  to  us  his  visage  in  the  frontispiece  of  his  book, 
has  doffed,  you  see,  the  wig,  and  is  frizzed,  much  to  the 
alarm  of  your  good  friend  Tony,  who  declares  the  intro- 
duction of  said  book  will  ruin  him.  Those  super-auricular 
capillary  appendages,  hardened  with  pomatum,  to  what  shall 
we  liken  them,  or  with  what  similitude  shall  we  set  them 
forth  ?  They  are  like  the  eaves  of  a  Chinese  temple  ;  or 
in  the  vernacular  of  your  brother  Nimrod,  they  are  like  a 
sheep's  tail;  yea,  verily.  But  by  a  paradox,  id  est,  by 
digressing  and  returning,  we  will  keep  in  the  straight  track. 
The  Deacon,  the  Parson  and  the  Master,  a  megalosplanch- 
notical  triad,  have  recommended  Ilale's  Spelling  Book. 


DEACON   RAMSDILL    ON   CHILDREN.  261 

Enoch  was  a  pupil  of  mine,  and  though  grown  sanctiloquent 
of  late,' he  always  knew  how  to  say  the  right  thing,  as  his 
book  abundantly  teaches.  "Webster,  moreover,  advertises 
us  that  &  is  no  letter ;  the  goal  of  every  breathless,  whip- 
fearing,  abcdarian's  valorous  strife,  the  high-sounding  Am- 
perzand,  no  letter !  Mehercule !  You  apocopate  that  from 
the  aphabet,  and  Deacon  Hadlock  will  apocopate  you 
from  the  School ;  yea,  verily.  It  really  signifies  and  per 
se,  that  for  your  private  edification,  Mistress  Margaret. 
Moreover  Perry  makes  twenty-six  vowel  sounds,  Hale  only 
sixteen ;  Webster  enumerates  nine  vowels,  Hale  five  ;  Hale 
preponderates  in  merit  by  reduction  in  number.  Too  many 
words,  Margaret,  too  many  words  among  men.  The  fewer 
vocals  the  better,  as  you  will  certainly  know  when  you 
have  the  children  to  instruct.  In  spelling,  let  the  consonant 
be  suffixed  to  the  last  vowel  thus,  g-i  v-e-n,  not,  g-i-v  e-n, 
as  they  do  in  this  degenerate  age.  It  is  revolutionary  and 
monstrous.  Hand  me  my  pipe,  I  shall  get  angry.  And, 
memor  sis,  mea  discipula,  vox  populi,  vox  dei.  You  have 
asked  me  who  God  is ;  you  will  probably  arrive  at  that 
understanding  as  soon  as  you  desire.  "  Here,"  he  continued, 
presenting  a  heavy  ebony  ruler,  "  is  what  serves  to  keep 
up  the  flammula  vitalis  in  the  simulacra  hominum.  You 
will  find  it  a  good  Anamnetic  in  the  School,  and  useful  in 
cases  of  the  Iliac  Passion,  the  young  androids  are  subject 
to.  Let  not  the  words  of  Martial  be  fulfilled  in  you, 

'  Ferule  tristis,  sceptra  pasdagogorum  ceasant ! ' 
The  best  Master  I  wot  of  is  the  Swabian  who  gave  his 
scholars  911,000  canings,  with  standing  on  peas,  and 
wearing  the  fool's  cap  in  proportion.  With  my  most  pious 
endeavors,  I  could  never  exceed  more  than  ten  castigations 
per  diem,  one  at  each  turn  of  the  glass ;  and  that  in  thirty 
yeras  that  I  have  borne  the  Solomonic  function,  amounts 


262  MARGARET. 

only  to  about  sixty  thousand  ;  Jove  forgive  me  !  Here  also 
is  a  clepsydra,  yclept  an  hour-glass,  for  you,  and  this  is  the 
Fool's  Cap,  which  it  is  hardly  needful  to  put  on  in  a  world 
like  this,  but  the  Committee  will  be  pleased  to  see  it  worn. 
Lupus  pilum  mutat,  non  mentem." 

"  Your  friend  Penning,"  interrupted  Margaret,  "  I  see, 
writes  thus  in  his  preface  :  '  I  must  take  the  freedom  to 
say,  that  I  am  sensible  a  Rod,  a  Cane,  or  Ferula,  are  of 
little  signiQcation ;  for  I  have  experienced  in  regard  to 
Learning  itself,  Infants  may  be  cheated  into  it,  and  the 
more  grown-up  youth  won  by  good  nature.'  " 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  replied  the  Master,  "  that  Deacon 
Hadlock  is  confounded  at  the  times,  when  the  scholar 
presumes  to  arraign  his  tutor  !  My  friend  Fenning,  peace 
to  his  shades !  had  a  weak  side,  nor  could  all  the  divine 
Widow's  embrocations  cure  him  ;  I  mean  he  was  tainted 
with  heresy ;  he  denied  the  plenary  inspiration  of  the 
Bible  ;  not  your  father's,  for  of  that  there  can  be  no  doubt ; 
but  that  wherein  King  Solomon  appears — and  this  reminds 
you  of  the  Parson's  snuff,  which  is  truly  after  a  godly  sort, 
kept  in  godly  pockets,  and  is  efficacious  in  the  illuminating 
of  the  understanding  of  the  saints — but  of  these  things  I  do 
not  discourse.  It  is  somewhere  said,  '  Spare  the  rod  and 
spoil  the  child  ; '  this  truth  carefully  concealed  in  the  holy 
mysteries,  my  Friend  Fenning  most  unbecomingly  dared  to 
question.  But  you  are  not  through  with  your  anagogics 
yet !  You  never  saw  a  Mumming,  or  Punch  and  Judy  ? 
Nay,  'verily ! " 

While  they  were  conversing,  Deacon  Rarasdill  halted 
into  the  room,  with  one  of  those  smiles,  which,  if  it  ever 
preceded  him  as  a  shadow,  still  was  the  promise  of  some- 
thing kind  and  good-natured  thereafter.  "  I  heerd  what  the 
gal  was  about,"  said  he,  "  and  I  thought  I  would  try  and 


DEACON  KAMSDILL  ON  CHILDREN.       263 

give  her  a  lift.  I  am  abroad  a  good  deal,  and  my  woman 
is  getting  old  and  rather  lonesome-like  ;  and  we  made  up 
our  minds  if  Miss  Margery  would  come  and  stay  with  us 
she  should  have  her  board  and  welcome.  Hester  Penrose, 
that  kept  the  School  last  summer,  got  her  lodgings  free  at 
the  Deacon's,  and  we  thought  we  could  do  as  much  for 
another.  Don't  know  how  you  will  like  us,  but  we  have 
found  that  swine  that  run  at  large  in  the  woods  make  the 
sweetest  pork,  and  we  are  willing  to  give  you  a  try.  What 
on  earth  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  are  piece  of  board?  " 

"  If  I  understand  the  Master,"  replied  Margaret, "  he  in- 
tends that  I  shall  fence  in  the  scholars  with  it." 

"•  There,  now,"  responded  the  Deacon.  "I  tell  you 
children  have  nater,  and  you  can't  help  it,  no  more  than 
you  can  being  a  cripple  when  your  hamstrings  are  cut. 
When  they  first  come  to  school  they  are  just  like  sheep, 
you  put  them  into  a  new  pasture  and  they  run  all  over  it 
up  and  down,  shy  round  the  fence,  try  to  break  out,  and 
they  won't  touch  a  sprig  of  grass  though  they  are  hungry 
as  bears.  You  send  the  youngsters  of  an  arrant,  and  they 
climb  all  the  rocks,  throw  stones  at  the  horse-sheds,  chase 
the  geese,  and  stop  and  talk  with  all  the  boys  and  gals  in 
the  way,  and  more  than  as  likely  as  not  forget  what  they 
have  gone  upon.  We  old  folk  must  keep  patience,  and 
remember  we  did  just  so  once.  It's  sheer  nater  and  there's 
no  stoppin'  on't,  no  more  than  a  rooster's  crowing  a  Sabber- 
day.  Blotches  are  apt  to  come  out  in  hot  weather,  and  you 
may  find  the  scholars  a  little  tarbulent,  particularly  about 
dog-days  ;  but  nater  must  have  its  course.  Don't  keep 
them  too  tight.  When  the  tea-kettle  biles  too  hard,  my 
woman  has  to  take  the  cover  off.  'T won't  do  to  press  it 
down,  it's  agin  nater,  you  see. — But,  Molly,  or  Mistress 
Margaret,  as  we  shall  have  to  call  you,  for  want  of  a  nail  the 


264  MARGARET. 

shoe  is  lost,  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  you  must  mind  little 
things,  and  see  that  matters  don't  come  to  loose  ends  before 
you  know  it.  Pull  up  the  weeds  and  then  throw  down 
some  brush  for  the  cucumbers  to  fasten  to  ;  it's  nateral,  and 
they  don't  get  snarled  among  themselves.  But  you  under- 
stand how  to  work  a  garden ;  well,  it's  all  nater  alike. 
Ha,  ha ! " 

This  language,  the  Master,  who  perhaps  on  the  principle 
that  extremes  meet,  or  what  is  more  likely,  that  the  simple, 
hearty  pleasantry  of  the  Deacon  was  always  boon  company 
to  his  own  laughing  humor,  ever  maintained  friendly  rela- 
tions with  the  latter  gentleman — this  language,  we  say,  the 
Master  suffered  to  pass  without  animadversion  or  rejoinder. 

Margaret,  thus  turned  adrift  to  her  own  reflections  by 
the  pointed  opposition  of  her  friends,  thanked  them  both 
for  their  magnanimous  interest  in  her  behalf,  took  the 
books  and  other  pedagogical  ensigns,  and  returned  to  the 
Pond.  Early  the  succeeding  Monday  she  reported  herself 
at  the  School-house,  took  her  seat  behind  the  big  desk,  and 
opened  with  her  scholars,  who  filed  in  after  her,  each  one 
making  his  bow  or  her  courtesy  as  they  entered  the  door ; 
and  all  with  clean  bright  faces  and  bare  feet.  The  boys 
took  their  places  one  side  of  the  room,  and  the  girls  the 
other.  They  reckoned  about  twenty,  and  were  all  under 
twelve  years  of  age,  comprising  the  buds  of  the  village 
population.  Among  them  was  little  Job  Luce,  who, 
recompensed  for  deformity  of  body  in  vivacity  of  mind,  and 
combining  withal  certain  singularities  of  sentiment,  could 
not  fail  to  recommend  himself  to  the  favorable  attention  of 
his  Mistress,  however  he  stood  reputed  with  the  world  at 
large. 

She  classed  her  scholars,  heard  their  a's,  ab's,  acorns, 


SCHOOL    KEEPING.  265 

and  abandonments,  gave  them  their  outs,  rapped  with  the 
ferule-  on  the  window  to  call  them  in — the  only  application 
she  made  of  the  instrument  in  question — turned  her  glass 
every  half  hour,  enjoyed  the  intermission  at  noon,  and  at 
night,  if  like  most  teachers,  was  as  glad  as  her  scholars  to 
be  dismissed.  Her  dinner  this  first  day,  which  she  brought 
from  home,  she  ate  at  the  School-house  ;  a  practice  which 
she  not  unfrequently  adopted,  since  Deacon  Ramsdill's, 
where  she  had  her  quarters,  was  some  distance  from  the 
Green, — and  in  this  she  was  joined  by  many  of  her 
scholars ;  and  she  spent  the  hour  cultivating  their  acquaint- 
ance, remarking  their  manifold,  novel  and  diverse  evolu- 
tions, moral  and  physical,  and  contributing  to  their  pastime, 
— she  never  commanded  the  intimacy  of  children  before. 
The  Deacon's  became  in  fact  no  more  than  her  nominal 
abode,  since  there  were  others  in  the  village  who  regarded 
her  with  kindness. 

Isabel  Weeks,  whom  she  had  occasionally  encountered, 
and  who  even  visited  her  at  the  Pond,  was  her  stanch 
friend.  Of  Isabel  we  might  say  many  things,  and  on 
Margaret's  account,  some  amplification  perhaps  were  de- 
manded ;  but  agreeably  to  the  well  used  maxim,  that 
times  of  peace  furnish  few  topics  for  the  historian,  we 
follow  all  precedents,  and  forbear.  Isabel  was  emphati- 
cally a  time  of  peace,  she  had  no  contentions,  intrigues, 
or  revolutions.  She  was  so  quiet  and  unobtrusive,  she 
would  be  set  down  for  an  ordinary  character.  She  was 
just  as  commonplace  and  unnoticed  as  the  sun  is.  She 
had  no  veiled  secret  like  Rose,  to  tantalize  expectation  and 
stimulate  curiosity ;  she  was  transparent  as  the  air,  and 
like  that  element,  was  full  of  refreshment  and  health,  sweet 
odors  and  pleasant  sounds.  She  had  always  been  indulgent 

VOL.  i.  23 


266  MARGARET. 

of  Margaret  and  of  the  people  at  the  Pond,  from  her 
childhood  ;  and  perhaps,  if  we  ascribe  to  her  a  portion  of 
that  self-love  of  which  so  few  are  deprived,  she  found  she 
lost  nothing  in  continuing  this  friendship,  which  indeed  had 
cost  her  something  with  her  neighbors.  She  sometimes 
staid  at  the  Widow  Small's,  where  the  Master  kept  her 
late  in  the  evening  employed  in  a  manner  that  gave  him 
the  greatest  possible  gratification,  playing  backgammon. 
One  day  of  the  first  week,  at  the  close  of  the  School,  follow- 
ing her  scholars  from  the  house,  who  broke  forth  in  noise, 
freedom  and  joy,  the  boys  betaking  themselves  to  their 
several  diversions,  snapping  the  whip,  skinning  the  cat, 
racing  round  the  Meeting-house,  or  what  not,  she  found 
herself  engaged  with  a  group  of  girls,  saying, — 

"  Intery,  mintery,  cutery-corn, 
Apple  seed,  and  apple  thorn ; 
Wine,  brier,  limber-lock, 
Five  geese  in  a  flock, 
Sit  and  sing  by  a  spring, 
O— TJ— T  and  in  again." 

"  It's  the  Ma'am's,  it's  the  Ma'am's !  "  shouted  the  girls, 
"  she  must  stand  ;  "  and  stand  she  did,  blinded  her  eyes, 
counted  a  hundred,  went  in  search  of  the  hiders,  anticipated 
their  return,  and  in  fine  went  through  a  regular  game 
of  "  Touch  Goal,"  with  the  ardor  and  precision  of  her 
pupils. 

Saturday  forenoon  she  omitted  the  customary  lesson  in 
the  Primer,  and  on  her  return  home  deliberately  reported 
what  she  had  done  to  the  Master,  dropping  something  at 
the  same  time  about  not  understanding  the  book.  "  Un- 
derstand the  Primer!  "  retorted  her  supervisor  with  consid- 
erable vehemence.  •'  What  most  people  dread,  I  am  fain 


SCHOOL   KEEPING.  267 

to  confess  I  love,  lunacy,  to  be  out  of  one's  head.  Didn't 
you  know  that  you  must  be  out  of  your  head  when  you 
undertook  the  School.  Are  not  all  teachers,  preachers, 
speakers,  out  of  their  head  ?  What  do  they  know  or 
pretend  to  know  of  what  they  froth  and  jabber  about ! 
Ugh  !  Eidepol !  Is  it  not  all  a  puppet-show,  and  each  of 
us  a  wheel-grinder  ?  Are  not  Patriots  cap  wearers  and 
Priests  mummers?  "Wag  your  mouth  and  blink  your 
eyes  like  most  genuine  pasteboard  when  you  come  out 
into  the  world  among  folk.  Not  teach  the  Creed  hey? 
That  is  the  finest  part  of  the  whole.  You  would  banish 
Harlequin  from  the  play,  like  some  other  good  moral 
people !  Go  to,  go  to,  you  little  prude !  Lie  out  in  the 
moon  this  and  to-morrow  night,  and  you  will  be  ready  to 
begin  your  work  again  Monday,  like  any  good  saint." 

With  these  condolences  and  ministrations,  she  continued 
her  way  to  the  Pond,  where  she  proposed  to  spend  the 
Sabbath.  Rose  came  to  see  her,  to  whom  she  recounted 
the  passages  of  the  week,  new  and  reflective,  painful  and 
pleasing.  Pluck  nearly  split  with  laughter  at  what  she 
related  of  the  Master  and  the  Primer,  whereby  also  Rose 
was  similarly  affected,  yet  not  so  naturally  as  the  old  man, 
but  like  one  startled  from  a  dream,  or  in  whom  an 
imprisoned  phantasmal  voice  breaks  out  wild  and  derisory. 

"  The  bell  tolls  ;  who  is  dead  ?  "  asked  Brown  Moll,  as 
they  were  sitting  in  the  doorway  about  sunset,  Sabbath 
evening,  and  the  measured  melancholy  note  fell  upon  their 
ears,  the  old  and  familiar  signal  that  some  spirit  had  just 
left  the  body,  "  Keep  still,  while  I  count."  So  by  keeping 
pace  with  the  number  of  strokes  she  learned  the  age  of  the 
deceased.  "  Forty-one,  who  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  must  be   Mrs.   Morgridge,"   said   Margaret.      "  I 


268  MARGARET. 

heard  that  she  was  sick,  but  did  not  think  she  was  going  to 
die.     Poor  little  Arthur  !  " 

This  sigh  for  one  of  her  beloved  pupils  was  supported 
by  no  contributions  of  her  friends,  and  the  subject,  like  those 
to  whom  it  owed  its  rise,  died  away.  The  family  never 
said  much  about  death,  whether  they  feared  it  and  did  not 
wish  their  peace  disturbed,  or  were  indifferent  to  it  and  felt 
moved  to  no  words,  or  were  prepared  for  it  and  needed  no 
admonitions,  nothing  in  their  manner  would  leave  us  the 
means  of  determining. 

Monday  she  resumed  her  duties  ;  Tuesday  afternoon, 
she  was  advised  by  the  Master  that  it  was  expected  the 
school  would  be  suspended  on  account  of  the  funeral.  She 
went  to  the  Judge's,  who  lived  on  the  North  Street,  a  short 
distance  from  the  Green,  with  her  friend  Isabel.  There 
was  a  large  collection,  including  the  remotest  inhabitants  of 
the  town.  After  prayer  by  Parson  Welles,  the  coffin  was 
taken  into  the  front  yard,  and  laid  on  the  bier  under  the 
trees.  Sunlight  and  shadows,  fit  emblems  of  the  hour, 
flickered  over  the  scene,  not  more  breathless,  hushed  and 
solemn,  than  were  the  voice,  step  and  heart  of  the  multitude. 
The  voluminous  velvet  pall  thrown  back  exposed  a 
mahogany  coffin,  thickly  studded  with  silver  buttons,  orna- 
mented with  some  gilt  armorial  tracery,  and  having  the 
name  and  age  of  the  deceased  on  a  silver  tablet.  The  cit- 
izens approached  one  by  one  to  take  a  last  look  of  the  re- 
mains, then  sunk  away  into  the  silently  revolving  circle. 
The  mourners  presently  came  out  and  indulged  a  tear- 
ful, momentary,  final  vision  ;  the  lid  was  closed,  and  the 
covering  folded  to  its  place.  On  the  coffin  were  then  laid 
six  pairs  of  white  kid  gloves,  one  for  each  of  the  pall  bear- 
ers, and  a  black  silk  scarf,  designed  for  the  clergyman. 


A    FUNERAL.  269 

The  bier,  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  four  young  men,  was 
followed  by  the  relatives,  when  came  the  citizens  at  large, 
two  and  two  abreast.  The  bell  began  its  slow,  far-echoing, 
heavy  toll,  and  continued  to  sound  till  the  procession 
reached  the  graveyard. 

This  spot,  chosen  and  consecrated  by  the  original  col- 
onists, and  used  for  its  present  purpose  more  than  a  century, 
lying  on  the  South  Street,  was  conspicuous  both  for  its 
elevation  and  its  sterility.  A  sandy  soil  nourished  the  yel- 
low orchard  grass  that  waved  ghostlike  from  the  mounds 
and  filled  all  the  intervals  and  the  paths.  No  verdure, 
neither  flower,  shrub,  or  tree,  contributed  to  the  agreeable- 
ness  of  the  grounds,  nor  was  the  bleak  desolation  disturbed 
by  many  marks  of  art.  There  were  two  marble  shafts,  a 
table  of  red  sandstone,  several  very  old  headstones  of  sim- 
ilar material,  and  more  modern  ones  of  slate.  But  here 
lay  the  fathers,  and  here  too  must  the  children  of  the  town 
ere  long  be  gathered,  and  it  was  a  place  of  solemn  feeling 
to  all. 

As  the  procession  approached  the  grave,  the  men  took 
off  their  hats ;  the  four  bier-men  lowered  the  coffin  by 
leathern  straps,  then  each  in  turn  threw  in  a  shovelful  of 
earth  ;  next  Philip  Davis,  the  Sexton,  taking  the  shovel 
into  his  own  hands,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  grave,  said 
in  form  as  follows,  "I  will  see  the  rest  done  in  decency 
and  order."  Parson  Welles,  as  the  last  obsequial  act,  in 
the  name  of  the  bereaved  family,  thanked  the  people  for 
their  kindness  and  attention  to  the  dead  and  the  living,  and 
the  procession  returned  to  the  house  of  the  Judge. 

Some  lingered  behind  to  revisit  the  graves  of  their  friends  ; 
Margaret  and  Isabel  also  staid.     It  was,  as  we  have  inti- 
mated, a  spot  without  beauty  or  bloom,  like  many  others  in 
23 


270  MARGAUET. 

New  England  ;  but  in  New  England  affections  are  green 
remembrances  and  enduring  monuments  ;  tears  that  mauso- 
leums cannot  always  command  were  freely  sbed  on  this 
dry  orchard -grass,  and  the  purest  purposes  of  life  were 
kindled  over  these  unadorned  graves.  The  drunken  Tap- 
leys  from  No.  4  moved  in  a  body  to  a  corner  of  the  lot, 
where  four  years  before  was  laid  their  youngest  child,  a  little 
daughter,  marked  by  a  simple  swell  of  dry  sod  scarce  a 
span  long,  and  there  at  least  they  were  sober. 

Margaret  alone  had  no  friends  there.  Isabel  took  her  to  the 
grave  of  one  of  her  early  companions,  Jesselyne  Ramsdill, 
only  child  of  the  Deacon's,  an  amiable  and  beautiful  girl  who 
was  cut  off  by  that  scourge  of  our  climate,  consumption,  in 
her  fifteenth  year,  wasting  away,  like  a  calm  river,  serene 
and  clear  to  the  last.  As  objects  of  curiosity,  were  the  old 
monument?,  made  as  we  have  said  of  red  sandstone,  now 
gray  with  moss,  bearing  death's  heads  and  cherub  cheeks 
rudely  carved,  and  quaint  epitaphs,  and  the  whole  both 
sinking  into  the  earth  and  fading  under  the  effects  of  time. 
Alas !  who  shall  preserve  the  relics  of  these  old  Cove- 
nanters ! 

The  next  week,  being  at  the  Master's,  he  showed  her  a 
piece  of  brown   parchment  inscribed  with   the  following 
words,  which  he  desired  her  to  translate  : — 
"  Universis  Quorum  interest, 

"  Attestamur  Bartholomew  Elliman  in  Actis  Societatis 
dicta?  Masoni*  ex  ordine  fuisse  inscriptura,  &c.,"  the  sub- 
stance of  which  being,  that  he  was  a  worthy  member  of  the 
Masonic  Lodge  of  the  Rising  States.  He  condescended 
also  to  explain  the  seal  of  his  watch,  a  huge  cornelian 
cased  in  gold,  dangling  from  a  long  gold  chain,  which  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  her  earliest  years.  He  said  it 


THE   FREE-MASONS.  271 

was  "  Azure  on  a  chevron  between  two  castles  argent,  a 
pair  of  compasses  somewhat  extended  of  the  first,  &c. ; "  in 
fine  he  told  her,  that  as  the  Masonic  Fraternity  were  about 
to  consecrate  a  Hall  in  the  village,  it  would  be  quite  im- 
possible for  the  School  to  keep,  and  perhaps  altogether 
pleasant  for  her  to  witness  the  ceremony. 

On  the  appointed  day,  with  Isabel,  she  repaired  to  the 
Green.  The  procession,  of  two  or  three  hundred,  formed 
from  the  Crown  and  Bowl.  It  exhibited  what  has  been 
called  a  "  splendid  parade"  in  the  "  gorgeous  attire  "  of  the 
men  with  their  freshly  powdered  hair,  white  gloves,  aprons 
and  stockings,  their  standards  of  crimson  and  gold,  the 
pictured  gradations  of  office,  and  the  showy  paraphernalia 
of  the  mystic  institution.  There  passed  before  the  wonder- 
ing eyes  of  our  novitiate,  Captain  Eliashib  Tuck,  Grand 
Tyler,  with  a  drawn  sword,  leading  the  march ;  her  friend 
the  Master  of  the  order  of  Worshipful  Deacons,  with 
staves ;  Brothers  bearing  a  gold  pitcher  of  corn,  and  silver 
pitchers  of  wine  and  oil ;  four  Tylers  supporting  the  Lodge, 
garnished  with  white  satin,  and  which,  so  the  Master  gave 
her  to  understand,  was  the  identical  Ark  of  the  Covenant, 
constructed  by  Bezaleel  and  presented  to  Moses ;  the  Right 
Worshipful  Grand  Master,  Esq.  Weeks,  who  bore  the 
Bible,  Square  and  Compasses  on  a  crimson  velvet  cushion  ; 
the  Chaplain,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lovers,  of  Brandon,  in  his 
robes. 

The  Hall,  which  was  the  object  of  this  convocation, 
covered  the  second  floor  of  a  building  recently  put  up  for 
town  occasions  on  the  east  side  of  the  Green.  The  door 
was  decorated  with  emblematical  figures,  the  floor  had  a 
mosaic  coloring,  heavy  curtains  of  crimson  and  gold  shaded 
the  windows  ;  on  the  walls  were  blazoned  sundry  hiero- 


272  MARGARET. 

glyphics,  the  Sun  and  Moon,  a  Cock,  Coffin,  Eye  and  Star  ; 
there  were  also  the  plummet,  mallet,  trowel  and  an  armillary 
sphere,  and  in  the  centre  stood  too  marble  pillars,  understood 
to  be  Jachin  and  Boaz.  The  procession  entered  and 
marched  three  times  round  the  room ;  at  the  first  turn,  the 
Grand  Master,  facing  the  East,  said,  "  In  the  name  of 
Jehovah  I  dedicate  this  Hall  to  Free  Masonry  ;  "  then  he 
pronounced  it  sacred  to  Virtue  and  Universal  Benevolence. 
A  prayer  and  anthem  succeeded,  when  an  Oration  was 
pronounced  by  the  Chaplain. 

"  Free  Masonry," — we  make  a  brief  extract  from  the 
address  of  the  reverend  speaker, — "is  the  most  perfect 
and  sublime  institution  ever  devised  for  conferring  happiness 
on  the  individual,  and  augmenting  the  welfare  of  society. 
Its  fundamental  principles,"  he  continued,  "  are  Universal 
Philanthropy  and  Brotherly  Love;  its  pillars  are  Faith, 
Hope  and  Charity ;  its  end  Virtue  and  Happiness ;  Reli- 
gion is  its  Sister,  its  Creator  is  God.  Its  constitution  is 
coeval  with  that  of  the  world  ;  from  the  Divine  Architecture 
of  the  Universe  are  derived  its  Symbols,  and  He  who  said, 
Let  there  be  Light,  proclaimed  the  solemn  Dedication  of 
our  Order. — Free  Masonry,"  said  he,  "  confounds  distinc- 
tions, and  is  insensible  to  rank ;  owning  a  common  affiliation 
of  the  race,  it  distributes  its  beneficence  to  all,  and  honors 
the  meanest  with  its  fellowship.  It  treats  none  with  con- 
tempt, and  pardons  the  imperfections  of  the  weak.  The 
distant  Chinese,  the  rude  Arab,  and  the  accomplished  Euro- 
pean will  embrace  an  American,  and  all  sit  together  at  the 
same  table  of  fraternal  confidence  and  affection.  Uncon- 
strained by  local  prejudice,  unswerved  by  the  rivalries  of 
party,  spurning  alike  the  claims  of  sect  and  the  limitations 
of  country,  we  know  no  preferance  but  virtue,  no  sanctity 


THE   FREE-MASONS.  273 

but  truth,  in  whatever  clime,  or  amid  whatever  fluctuations 
of  outward  life  they  may  appear.  Our  Association  relieves 
misery  and  shuns  revenge.  The  tears  of  Widowhood  it 
wipes  away,  the  pangs  of  Orphanage  it  soothes,  and  by  its 
hands  are  the  stores  of  Destitution  replenished.  It  curbs 
the  fury  of  War,  and  multiplies  the  blessings  of  Peace. 
The  sign  of  a  brother,  even  in  an  enemy's  camp,  subdues 
our  animosities  and  sheathes  the  sword. — We  have  been 
accused,"  such  were  the  closing  words  of  the  discourse,  "  of 
conspiring  aiainst  the  liberties  of  mankind,  it  is  slander- 
ously reported  that  we  are  leagued  with  the  foes  of  law  and 
order  to  demolish  the  fabric  of  society.  Were  Napoleon 
a  Mason,  as  he  is  a  Warrior,  where  he  has  drenched  the 
earth  in  blood  he  would  have  strewed  it  with  flowers,  for 
wasted  cities  would  have  arisen  Temples  to  Virtue,  for 
Ministers  of  Wrath  driving  before  them  the  horror-stricken 
nations,  we  should  behold  Angels  of  Mercy  keeping  watch 
over  their  happy  homes,  our  Melodies  would  drown  the 
notes  of  the  Clarion,  and  the  race,  instead  of  closing  with 
the  ferocity  of  ensanguined  battle,  would  this  day  meet  in 
the  embrace  of  Universal  Brotherhood  ! " 

The  speaker  took  his  seat  amid  great  applause ;  a  hymn 
was  then  sung  commencing  thus, — 

"  Hail  Masonary !  them  Craft  Divine ! 

Glory  of  Earth,  from  Heaven  revealed ! 
Which  dost  with  jewels  precious  shine, 

From  all  but  Masons'  eyes  concealed ! " 

A  collation  succeeded,  consisting  of  fruits  and  cakes,  and 
since,  on  a  previous  day,  at  a  funeral,  spirituous  liquors 
were  freely  dispensed,  we  are  only  just  to  the  times  and  to 
this  festal  company,  in  adding  that  wine  and  brandy 
formed  a  conspicuous  part  of  their  entertainment.  Three 


274  MARGARET. 

additional  grand  marches  around  the  Hall  finished  the 
scene  ;  strangers  retired,  and  the  Brotherhood  were  left  to 
their  private  affairs. 

Shortly  after,  with  Deacon  Ratnsdill  and  his  wife,  and  a 
large  number  of  villagers,  Margaret  was  invited  to  an 
evening  party  at  Esq.  Beach's.  This  gentleman  lived  on 
Grove  Street,  in  a  house  of  the  new  style,  very  large  and 
high,  having  a  curb  roof  with  dormers,  and  perforated  all 
over  with  windows  like  a  pepper  box.  The  parlor  was 
thought  to  be  elegantly  furnished,  in  its  mahogany  side- 
board garishly  bedecked  with  decanters  of  brandy  and 
wine,  silver  cups  and  tankard,  a  knife-case,  and  having 
underneath  a  case  of  bottles  brass-trimmed  ;  a  bright  Kid- 
derminster carpet;  light  "Windsor  chairs;  a  Pembroke 
table,  now  degenerated  into  a  common  din  ing-table ;  and, 
what  caught  the  eye  of  the  Pond  girl,  more  than  all,  superb 
hangings.  These  represented  the  South  Sea  Islands  as 
conceived  by  the  original  discoverers.  The  sides  of  the 
room  opened  away  in  charming  tropical  scenery,  landscapes 
and  figures  ;  the  people,  their  costume,  habits,  sports,  houses 
were  brought  into  panoramic  view,  as  also  appeared  their 
innocence  and  simplicity,  their  native  and  rural  enjoyments 
and  peace,  now,  alas  !  to  be  seen  no  more  by  those  who  shall 
again  visit  them.  These  occupied  Margaret  so  long  she 
well  nigh  trespassed  upon  the  courtesies  of  the  hour,  and 
Deacon  Ramsdill  was  obliged  to  recall  her  to  her  fellow- 
guests.  There  were  dancing,  card-playing,  much  spirit- 
drinking,  and  more  warm  political  talking,  very  warm  in- 
deed, so  fervid  and  life-imbued,  in  fact,  as  to  engross  all 
things  within  itself;  and  Margaret  became  a  devout 
listener  to  what  for  the  instant  appeared  topics  the  most 
lofty,  and  interests  the  most  momentous  ;  nor  could  she  be 


ESQ.  BEACH'S.  275 

diverted  until  the  Master  had  thrice  trod  upon  her  toes, 
and  engaged  her  in  a  game  of  backgammon. 

The  School,  in  the  estimation  of  its  teacher,  was  going 
on  finely.  Her  scholars  were  ductile  and  inquisitive,  many 
phased  and  many-minded,  and  their  proficiency  in  the 
Spelling  Book  was  only  equalled  by  their  attachment  to 
herself.  A  single  instance  of  discipline  sprang  from  a  rude 
attack  made  by  one  of  the  larger  boys,  Consider  Gisborne, 
on  one  whose  helplessness  appealed  strongly  to  Margaret's 
sensibilities,  Job  Luce.  She  ordered  the  offender  to  sit 
an  hour  on  the  girl's  side  of  the  house.  In  enjoyment  and 
fidelity  three  weeks  were  nearly  spent. 

Yet  the  coolness  with  which  the  people  at  large  origi- 
nally admitted  her  services  was  fast  ripening  into  positive 
dissent.  Some  boldly  proclaimed  her  unfitness  for  the 
station,  others  clamored  for  the  restitution  of  the  old 
Mistress,  Hester  Penrose.  Deacon  Ramsdill  was  the  first 
to  break  to  her  the  no  less  surprising  than  depressing  in- 
telligence, and  Master  Elliman  confirmed  the  suspicion  that 
she  would  be  obliged  to  quit  the  School.  Parson  Welles 
was  considerate  enough  to  suggest  the  propriety  of  an 
investigation  of  the  case;  which,  however,  she  would  have 
done  well  to  avoid  by  a  voluntary  relinquishment  of  her 
post ;  but  she  was  over-persuaded  by  her  friend  Isabel, 
one  of  those  who  always  hope  for  the  best,  and  consented 
to  abide  an  issue. 

The  study  of  the  Parson  was  the  appointed  scene  of 
trial,  and  that  room  which  in  her  girlhood  Margaret  had  sur- 
veyed with  strong  delighted  curiosity,  was  now  shaded  to  her 
mind  beyond  the  stains  of  tobacco-smoke  and  time  on  the 
walls.  There  lay  the  great  mysterious  books  that  she  had 
importuned  the  Master  to  give  her  access  to,  but  from  which, 
on  one  pretence  or  another  he  had  still  kept  her,  and  now 


276  MARGARET. 

they  seemed  about  to  be  forever  banished  from  her  grasp. 
Above  all  was  the  reverend  presence  itself,  the  grave  person 
of  the  Minister,  a  conflicting  union  to  her  eye,  of  extremest 
sacredness  and  extremest  profanity,  a  sort  of  corporeal 
embodiment  of  all  unreality  with  which  the  lessons  of 
Master  Elliman  were  calculated  to  fill  her  mind ;  and  when 
she  saw  that  strange  being  soberly  lay  aside  its  pipe  and 
as  soberly  put  on  its  glasses — that  single  act  affected  her 
with  a  twinge  of  fright,  which  was  not  lessened  at  all  by 
contact  with  Isabel,  who  sat  next  her  shaking  with  awe  and 
alarm.  In  addition,  rumor  of  what  was  afloat  having 
drawn  a  number  of  people  to  the  place,  their  faces  frown- 
ing, sneering  and  laughing,  increased  the  complexity  of  her 
sensations. 

The  nominal  charges  were  reduced  to  two  heads ;  first, 
omitting  to  use  the  Primer  ;  and  second,  harsh  and  un- 
reasonable treatment  of  Consider  Gisborne.  To  this  was 
appended  a  supplement  that  had  its  full  weight,  that  she 
did  not  attend  Meeting  on  the  Sabbath,  and  that  she  played 
with  her  scholars ;  and  the  whole  was  ridden  by  the 
insinuation  that  she  had  shown  partiality  to  the  crumple- 
back,  Job.  On  these  several  and  various  matters  she 
could  make  no  defence,  and  she  attempted  no  reply.  Her 
friends,  who  under  other  circumstances  would  gladly  have 
remonstrated  in  her  behalf,  felt  constrained  to  abandon  the 
case,  and  could  do  no  more  than  secretly  condole  with  her 
disappointment. 

"  Touching  the  unfortunate  youth,"  said  the  Parson,  "  he 
suffereth  from  that  sin  which  we  do  all  inherit  from  the 
Fall.  The  compassion  which  you  have  exhibited  toward 
him  would  be  counted  a  token  of  gracious  affections  in  the 
regenerate  mind.  But  continuing  unregenerate,  the  danger 
is  great  that  you  will  reckon  it  meritorious,  and  thus  by 


DISMISSED    FROM    THE    SCHOOL.  277 

adding  to  your  good  works,  increase  the  probabilities  of 
your  condemnation,  for  truly  the  Bible  saith,  The  sacrifice 
of  the  wicked  is  an  abomination  to  the  Lord.  But,"  he 
continued,  addressing  her  with  a  direct  interrogation,  "  will 
the  Mistress  wholly  deny  to  impart  the  godly  instruction 
contained  in  that  little  manual  ?  " 

"I  cannot  use  it,"  replied  Margaret,  with  a  tolerably 
firm  accent,  yet  faltering  in  every  muscle. 

"  Therein  are  to  be  found,"  resumed  the  Parson,  "  the 
great  truths  of  evangelical  faith  and  practice." 

"  I  know  nothing  what  it  means,"  she  added,  "  and  I 
could  never  consent  to  teach  it." 

"  Truly,"  exclaimed  he,  "  their  eyes  are  blinded  that 
they  cannot  see.  What  saith  Master  Elliman  on  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  Yea,  verily,"  replied  the  Master,  "  as  the  Lord  har- 
dened the  spirit  of  Sihon,  King  of  Heshbon,  and  made  his 
heart  obstinate,  that  he  might  deliver  him  into  the  hand  of 
Israel,  so  is  it  exemplified  in  what  we  now  behold." 

"  She's  a  drop  stitch,"  said  one  woman,  who  had  been 
busy  during  the  proceedings  footing  a  stocking.  "  She  has 
cast  her  band  if  she  is  a  spinner's  daughter,"  was  the 
simultaneous  comment  of  another  woman.  "  She  ought  to 
have  put  in  a  straining  brace  before  she  ran  her  roof  so 
high,"  observed  Mr.  Gisborne  the  Joiner.  "  She  had  bet- 
ter learn  of  her  daddy  how  to  mend  her  own  ways  aginst 
she  comes  down  to  patch  up  our'n  next  time,"  said  Mr. 
Cutts,  the  Shoemaker.  "How  hardly  have  we  escaped 
from  the  hands  of  the  Philistines  ! "  ejaculated  Deacon 
Hadlock.  "  We  have  a  small  account  against  you  at  the 
Store,  some  pins  and  ferret  I  believe,"  said  Deacon  Pen- 
rose,  "  hope  you  will  call  and  settle  before  you  leave." 

"You  have  lost  your  title,  and  we  must  call  you  Molly 

VOL.  i.  24 


278  MARGARET. 

again,"  said  Deacon  Ramsdill,  as  they  left  the  house  ;  "  but 
you  stuck  to  your  pint,  and  raabby  it's  as  well.  I  see  'twas 
nater,  and  you  couldn't  give  it  up.  The  Lord  knows 
what'll  come  of  it,  but  if  you  follow  nater,  he'll  take  care  of 
you.  There  is  more  in  things  than  we  old  folk  have 
thought  of,  and  if  you  young  heads  can  find  it  out,  for  one  I 
shall  be  glad.  You  have  eat  your  crib  and  broke  your 
halter,  but  there  is  a  good  deal  of  feed  out  of  the  stable. 
Fences  last  the  longest  when  the  lo-rs  are  peeled  ;  you  are 
pretty  well  stripped,  but  I  guess  you  won't  give  out  any 
quicker.  The  children  have  nater,  and  you  and  they  would 
get  along  smart  enough  together ;  the  old  people  are  chock 
full  of  their  notions  and  politicals,  and  I  don't  know  as  you 
could  do  better  than  to  let  them  alone.  I  was  afraid  at  the 
start  how  the  matter  would  turn.  About  Consider,  he  is 
not  a  nateral  bad  boy,  only  it  went  agjn  the  grain  to  be  put 
among  the  gals  ;  and  he  took  on  dreadfully,  and  his  people 
thought  he  had  been  most  killed.  But  it  was  because  you 
did  it,  Molly,  yes  because  you  did  it ;  if  any  body  else  had 
done  so,  he  would  not  have  said  a  word  ;  but  he  liked  the 
new  Ma'am,  I've  heard  him  say  so,  and  when  you  punished 
him  it  broke  him  right  down  ;  that's  nater  agin,  clear 
nater.  Hester  might  have  thrashed  the  skin  off  his  body 
and  he  wouldn't  have  cried  boo.  Then  you  know,  some 
people's  geese  are  always  swans,  so  we  thought  when  our 
little  Jessie  was  alive  ;  yes,  yes.  God  knows  how  hard  it 
is  to  help  setting  a  good  deal  by  one's  children.  But, 
Molly,  you  musn't  judge  the  people  too  harsh ;  they  are 
just  like  gooseberries,  with  a  tough  skin  and  sharp  pricks, 
and  yet  there  is  something  sweet  inside.  Eemember  too 
he  who  can  wait  hath  what  he  desire  ." 

Tony,  the  negro  barber  and  fiddler,  who  had  been  hover- 
ing about  the  Parsonage  during  the  trial  with  considerable 


MARGARET   AND    TONY.  279 

concern,  and  still  hung  on  the  steps  of  the  party  as  they 
walked  up  the  street,  at  length  ventured  to  address  Mar- 
garet and  ask  her  if  she  would  not  go  to  his  shop  and  have 
her  hair  dressed.  She  politely  declined. 

"  Your  brother  Chilion  has  done  great  favors  to  this 
gentleman  in  the  musical  profession,"  continued  the  negro, 
"  and  if  the  Mistress  would  let  him  try  the  tongs  on  her,  it 
would  make  great  commendations.  It  an't  Tory  now,  and 
there  isn't  nobody  else  in  the  world  that  I  would  see  suffer 
if  I  could  help  it,  and  the  Mistress  was  a  most  handsomest 
dancer,  and  Chilion  tuned  my  fiddle."  Margaret  was  too 
much  occupied  with  other  reflections. 

"  You  had  better  go,"  said  Deacon  Ramsdill ;  "  it  is  as 
good  to  a  man  to  do  a  favor  as  to  get  one.  Tony  has  a 
feeling  nater,  and  he  mabby  would  serve  you  when  nobody 
else  would,  and  will  take  it  hard  if  you  deny  him. — • 
Isabel  will  go  with  you,  and  he  would  like  to  show  you  his 
shop." 

Margaret  yielded.  The  Barber,  whose  function  was  no 
unimportant  one  to  the  villagers,  had  his  apartments  set  off 
in  a  manner  for  which  such  quarters  have  been  famed 
from  time  immemorial.  The  window  shutters  that  con- 
cealed his  treasures  during  the  night  published  them  by 
day,  standing  along  the  front  of  his  shop  as  advertising 
boards,  whereon  appeared  a  list  of  articles  to  be  purchased 
and  services  done.  Within  was  a  conspicuous  assortment 
of  the  exquisites  of  the  day, — "  King  Henry's  Water," 
"  Pink  and  Rose  Hair  Powder,"  "  Face  Powder  instead  of 
Paint,"  "  Hemmett's  Essence  of  Pearl  for  Teeth,"  "Paris 
made  Pomatum,"  "Infallible  Antidote  for  Consumption," 
"  Elixir  Magnum  Vitae ;  "  etc.,  etc. 

Margaret  taking  her  seat  in  the  tonsorial  chair,  delivered 
herself  into  the  hands  of  the  professor.  "  What  a  head  !  " 


280  MARGARET. 

exclaimed  the  negro,  "  what  a  figure  she  would  make, 
Miss  Belle,  in  the  great  world  if  she  was  only  a  little 
dusted !  I  have  had  Madam  Hadlock  four  hours  together 
under  my  hands,  when  she  was  fixing  for  a  ball,  where  I 
also  had  the  pleasure  to  attend  her  four  hours  more.  After 
she  joined  the  Church  I  lost  that  honor.  The  Sacrament, 
Miss  Belle,  makes  bad  work  with  the  profession.  I  am  as 
the  Master  says  A.  B.  Android  Barberosum,  S.  T.  D. 
Societatis  Tonsorum  Dux,  a  great  man  you  see,  and 
Parsons,  Judges  and  Masters,  as  Master  Elliman  says,  bow 
down  to  me. — " 

"  Is  that  your  method !  "  said  Margaret,  really  shrinking 
beneath  the  resolute  application  of  the  artist's  hands.  "  You 
make  my  head  ache." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  the  negro,  "  'tis  a  most  fashionable 
pain,  Runy  Shooks  will  sit  it  out  by  the  hour.  You  won't 
need  a  cushion,  but  a  little  powder,  Patent  Lily  gives  such 
an  etiquette — " 

"  Nothing  more,  I  thank  you." 

"  I  can't  use  the  tongs,  you  are  all  in  curls  now.  What 
shall  we  do,  Miss  Belle  ?  A  roller,  toupee — that's  Paris." 

"  What ! "  said  Isabel,  "  I  thought  you  didn't  belong  to 
the  French  Party,  Tony." 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  all  Jacobin,  all  Federal,  all  Lumination, 
only  I  an't  no  dum  Tory.  The  Lady's  father  was  a  Tory, 
wasn't  he  ?  Well,  they  won't  hurt  me  now.  They  were 
good  heads,  all  of  them ;  I  use  to  get  five  pounds  a  year 
out  of  Col.  Welch's.  Let  me  comb  it  up  over  the  top,  and 
bring  these  back  locks  in  front  ?  "  "  No,  no,"  said  Margaret. 
"  Y"ou  shall  be  welcome  to  one  of  my  silver  spangled 
ribbons  to  tie  it  with."  "  Let  it  be  as  it  is."  "  Ha  !  ha  ! 
who  ever  heard  of  a  lady's  hair  being  as  it  is  ?  That  isn't 
the  fashion  at  all.  A  lady  wouldn't  live  out  half  her  days. 


THE    QUAKERS.  281 

We  use  to  set  it  up  a  foot  high  ;  but  that  was  before  the 
War.  Since  that  time,  taste,  as  I  have  heard  York  gentle- 
men say,  has  slided.  I  have  heard  ladies  say  they  couldn't 
go  to  meetin'a  Sunday,  or  improve  on  the  sermon,  because 
they  were  not  in  fashion.  We  are  a  means  of  grace,  as 
Master  Elliman  says.  So  I  must  bring  this  curl  here,  and 
this  one  here,  and  let  them  be  as  they  was.  Well,  this 
gentleman  declares  upon  his  honor,  Mistress  looks  as 
beauteous  as  the  great  Queen  Anne  on  the  wall.  She  will 
not  disprove  a  little  Hungary  Water  ?  "  "  No."  "  Thank 
the  Lady  Margaret,  thank  her.  No  pins,  no  spangles,  no 
tye-top,  no  beads, — Miss  Belle  so  too, — well,  upon  my 
soul ! " 

"  Simplicity  becomes  us  best,  you  know,  Tony,"  said 
Isabel.  "  Ma  always  said  those  were  most  adorned  who 
were  adorned  the  least.  So  you  will  not  feel  bad,  I  know 
you  won't." 

"  This  gentleman  D.  D.  Devil  of  a  Doctor, — for  you 
must  know  we  use  to  perform  surgery,  phlebotomy,  and 
blood-letting,  till  the  other  professors  came  in,  and  they  have 
well  nigh  propelled  us, — this  gentleman,  A.  B.,  S.  T.  D., 
D.  D.  see  the  toilette  every  day  going  down,  and  expect 
the  great  Napoleon  will  eat  the  Barbers  all  up ;  but  he 
declares  Mistress  Margaret  the  most  grandiloquent  head 
in  all  the  country — hope  no  offence,  Miss  Belle." 

"None  at  all,"  replied  Isabel;  "you  know  we  always 
said  Margery  was  beautiful,  and  she  is  good  too,  and  good 
folks  will  bear  to  have  any  thing  said  to  them,  and  not  take 
it  as  flattery,  but  only  truth,  Ma  says." 

The  Barber  held  up  a  looking-glass,  and  Margaret  saw 

her  hair  not  essentially  affected  by  the  professional  endeavor, 

still    as  before  parted  on  the  top,  and  hanging  in  thick 

frizettes,  which  the  operator  had  done  his  best  to  smooth, 

24* 


282  MARGARET. 

gloss  and  arrange.  "  Tell  Master  Chilion,"  said  he,  as  the 
young  ladies  left,  "  one  of  my  fiddle-strings  is  broke  and 
the  board  out  of  order,  and  he  is  the  only  gentleman  this 
side  of  the  Bay  can  fix  it,  as  things  ought  to  be  done.  Do 
the  Mistress  take  a  box  of  the  Patent  Tooth  Wash." 

Margaret  finished  out  the  week  with  Isabel,  and  Saturday 
afternoon  left  for  Mr.  Wharfield's,  where  she  was  invited 
to  make  a  visit,  and  two  of  whose  children  had  been  under 
her  tuition.  The  Quaker  lived  on  the  Brandon  road  half 
way  between  the  Village  and  No.  4.  Turning  from  the 
South  Street,  she  crossed  Mill  Brook  and  rapidly  com- 
menced the  ascent  into  a  more  elevated  region.  Beneath, 
on  the  right,  hidden  among  trees  and  shrubbery,  flowed  the 
Brook ;  farther  to  the  north-west  rose  the  beautiful  green- 
wooded  summit  of  the  Pond,  with  her  favorite  Indian's 
Head  towering  above  all ;  on  the  left,  by  alternate  gentle 
acclivities  and  precipitous  bluffs,  sloped  the  long  hills  away 
to  the  skies.  A  high  flat  brought  her  to  the  house  of  her 
friends,  who  were  farmers,  and  as  we  say  well-to-do  in  the 
world. 

"Where  she  intended  to  stop  a  single  night,  her  abode  was 
protracted  nearly  a  week.  The  habits  of  the  family  were 
simple,  their  manners  quiet,  and  tastes  peculiar.  Their 
enjoyment  seemed  to  consist  in  listening  to  her,  they  strove 
to  make  her  happy  by  receiving  what  she  had  to  say,  they 
watched  her  with  the  interest  approaching  to  awe  of  those 
who  beheld  in  one  what  they  described  as  the  "  inner 
workings  of  the  spirit,"  and  from  whom  they  looked  for 
some  surprising  evolutions.  Their  children  were  thrown 
continually  in  her  way  that  they  might  catch  the  inspiration 
with  which  she  seemed  to  be  endowed.  Troubled  at  last 
as  her  friends  imagined  with  a  desire  to  go  home,  they 
would  no  longer  detain  her,  and  gratefully  dismissed  her. 


THE    QUAKERS.  283 

If  she  were  depressed  at  all  by  the  events  of  the  School, 
the  treatment  of  the  Quakers  was  certainly  fitted  to  reassure 
her  ;  and  with  whatever  melancholy  she  may  have  first 
thought  of  returning  home  as  it  were  disgraced  from  the 
Village,  this  was  qualified  or  displaced  by  the  second 
thought  that  it  was  her  home,  that  there  were  her  best 
friends  and  purest  pleasures — and  she  trod  on  with  a  firm 
step  and  considerable  buoyancy  of  feeling. 

She  traversed  No.  4,  known  in  her  vocabulary  as 
Avernus,  and  not  inappropriately  named.  In  addition  to 
every  aspect  of  blight  and  waste  that  could  conveniently 
be  combined  in  a  human  dwelling-place,  the  geese,  those 
very  agreeable  articles  in  their  proper  use,  but  the  greatest 
enemies  of  road-side  beauty,  like  the  locusts  of  Egypt,  had 
discriminated  and  polled  the  green  grasses  and  more 
delicate  flowers,  and  left  only  may-weed,  smart-grass  and 
Indian-tobacco,  perennial  monuments  of  desolation  ;  an 
offence  for  which  they  had  long  since  been  banished  the 
Pond.  Hogs  lay  under  the  cherry-trees  by  stone-walls, 
crabbedly  grunting  like  bull-frogs,  muddling  the  earth  and 
wallowing  in  the  mire.  Leaning  well-sweeps  creaked  in 
the  scant  gardens.  She  encountered  a  file  of  children,  with 
hair  thoroughly  whitened,  and  face  as  thoroughly  black- 
ened by  the  sun,  kicking  before  them  the  dry  dust  of  the 
road  in  clouds.  Sheep  with  fettered  legs  wandered  from 
side  to  side  restless  and  forlorn.  An  overturned  wood-sled, 
lying  outside  of  a  barn-yard  fence,  and  protecting  within 
its  bars  a  collection  of  white  flowering  catnip,  was  a  solitary 
point  of  beauty.  A  bevy  of  yellow  butterflies  flying  before 
her  and  lighting  on  the  road,  then  flying  and  lighting  again 
as  she  advanced,  at  last  whisking  off  and  forming  themselves 
into  a  saucy  waltz  over  a  black  pool  of  water,  where  they 


284  MARGARET. 

were  finally  dispersed  by  the  incursion  of  a  pair  of  blue- 
spotted  dragon-flies,  afforded  her  some  diversion. 

A  pink  in  a  pewter  mug  standing  on  the  window-sill  of 
one  of  the  low  ragged  houses,  Mr.  Tapley's,  she  would  fain 
turn  aside  to  see  ;  a  little  girl,  Dorothy  Tapley  by  name, 
appeared,  awkwardly  enough  with  her  fingers  in  her  mouth, 
and  said  it  was  hers.  Margaret  laying  hands  upon  it, 
asked  if  she  might  have  it.  The  girl  immediately  lifted  her 
fingers  from  her  mouth  to  her  eyes  and  began  to  cry. 
Margaret  inquired  what  was  the  matter.  Dorothy  gave 
her  to  understand  that  when  her  little  sister  Malvina  was 
sick,  and  Miss  Amy,  with  the  Parson,  came  to  see  the 
invalid,  she  wanted  a  pink  that  Miss  Amy  had  pinned  on 
her  breast,  and  that  having  got  possession  of  it  she  would 
not  part  with  it,  but  kept  it  by  her,  and  died  holding  the 
wilted  stem  in  her  hand  ;  whereupon  she,  Dorothy,  went 
to  the  Parsonage  and  begged  of  Miss  Amy  a  root  of  the  same 
flower,  and  that  in  the  mug  was  it ;  that  she  had  taken 
much  care  of  it,  and  would  on  no  account  let  it  go. 

This  conversation  through  the  window  reaching  the 
ears  of  Mistress  Tapley,  who  was  at  work  in  the  back 
shed  cutting  up  cheese-curd,  brought  her  into  the  room. 
The  mother — not  a  very  tidy  looking  woman,  having  a 
knife  in  one  hand  and  a  snuff  box  in  the  other — confirmed 
all  the  child  had  said.  Margaret  told  them  she  was  glad 
they  valued  the  flower  so,  said  she  would  not  think  of 
taking  it,  and  asked  for  a  draught  of  water.  This  produced 
a  fresh  demonstration  on  the  part  of  these  people,  the 
mother  averring  with  undisguised  emotion  that  they  had 
used  their  last  drinking  utensil  for  the  pink,  that  they  drank 
rum  from  the  bottle,  that  the  gourd  was  broke,  but  she 
should  be  welcome  to  drink  as  the  rest  did  from  the  bucket. 


THE   WELL.  285 

"  You  help  her,  Dorothy  ;  she  won't  git  away  your  posy  ; 
she  han't  forgot  how  much  we  done  for  her  when  she  was 
lost  in  the  woods." 

They  went  through  the  house  into  the  back  shed.  That 
back  shed  !  cheese-room,  dye-room,  sink-room,  airy,  piazza, 
hen-roost,  cupboard,  wardrobe,  scullery,  with  its  soap- 
barrel,  pot  of  soap-grease,  range  of  shelves  filled  with 
rusty  nails,  bits  of  iron  hoops,  broken  trays,  hammer, 
wedges,  chizel ;  tar-pot,  swill-pail,  bench,  churn,  basket  of 
apples,  kittens,  chickens,  pup,  row  of  earthern  milkpans 
drying  about  it — take  it  for  all  in  all  we  shall  never  look 
upon  its  like  again  ! 

At  one  end  was  the  well,  its  long  sweep  piercing  the 
skies,  its  bucket  swinging  to  and  fro  in  the  wind.  Doro- 
thy leaped  up  and  caught  the  bucket  and  hauled  it  to 
Margaret,  who  grasping  the  pole  was  about  to  draw  it 
down  hand  over  hand.  She  paused  to  look  at  what  was 
below  her.  The  mouth  of  the  well  was  shaded  and  nar- 
rowed by  green  mosses  and  slender  ferns;  which  also 
covered  the  stones  quite  to  the  bottom,  and  bore  on  every 
leaf  and  point  a  drop  of  water  from  the  waste  of  the  bucket. 
Below  the  calm  surface  of  the  water  appeared  a  reversed 
shaft  having  it  sides  begemmed  with  the  moss-borne  drops, 
which  with  a  singular  effect  of  darkened  brilliancy  shone 
like  diamonds  in  a  cave.  Through  a  small  green  subter- 
ranean orifice  she  could  look  into  nethermost,  luminous, 
boundless  space ;  a  mysterious  ethereal  abyss,  an  unknown 
realm  of  purity  and  peace  below  the  earth,  the  faintly-re- 
vealed inferior  heavens  ;  and  she  beheld,  too,  her  own  fair 
but  shadowy  face,  in  the  midst  of  all,  looking  up  to  her. 
Anon  a  falling  drop  of  water  would  ruffle  the  scene,  and 
then  it  eddied  away  into  clearness  and  repose.  Such  was 


286  MARGARET. 

the  rare  vision  that  detained  her,  and  made  her  pause  with 
her  hands  still  grasping  the  pole. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  said  Dorothy.  "  I  am  think- 
ing of  your  pink,"  replied  Margaret  "  I  thought  I  could 
see  Malvina  in  the  well  sometimes,"  added  the  girl,  "  but 
there  is  nothing  there  only  some  fishes  Biah  put  in  last 
summer."  "  At  any  rate  there  is  good  water  there,  and  we 
will  see  if  we  can  get  some,"  said  Margaret.  The  bucket 
was  drawn  up,  dripping  to  the  curb,  where  Dorothy 
steadied  it,  while  Margaret  drank.  Margaret  sat  on  the 
long  bench  to  rest  herself,  and  told  Dorothy  Chilion  would 
make  a  box  for  her  pink.  Dorothy  gave  her  the  better 
half  of  an  imperfect  geniton  apple,  the  best  she  had,  and 
Mistress  Tapley  with  unwashed  hands  hurried  into  the 
garden,  that  is  to  say  a  small  unenclosed  spot,  where  they 
raised  a  few  vines,  and  got  a  watermelon,  and  with  the 
same  versatile  and  economical  member,  broke  it  in  pieces, 
which  she  divided  between  Margaret  and  her  daughter. 

Going  on  her  way,  she  passed  pastures  and  extensive 
forest-skirted  uplands  crimsoned  over  with  the  flowering 
sorrel ;  and  large  fields,  planted  as  it  would  seem  to  mulleins 
like  nursery  trees,  with  silvery  leaves,  rising  into  tall  gold- 
tipped  pinnacles  ;  she  saw  bull-thistles,  like  a  phalanx  of 
old  Roman  soldiers  of  whom  she  had  read,  suddenly  fallen 
into  disorderly  mutual  combat,  piercing  one  another  with 
sharp  malignant  spines.  The  air  of  the  place  tainted  as  it 
might  appear  from  the  vapors  of  the  Still,  whose  fires 
waited  not  for  midsummer  heats,  was  yet  sensibly  relieved 
by  the  sweet-scented  vernal  grass  mingling  with  the  odors 
of  new-mown  hay  from  the  meadows  or  lots  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  Brook  ;  she  saw,  also,  women  with  blue  and 
brown  skirts,  naked  arms,  and  straw  hats,  raking  and  turn- 
ing hay  among  alders  and  willows,  that  yet  flourished  in 


THE    DELECTABLE    WAT.  287 

their  best  mow-lands.  From  loads  of  brakes,  a  lazy 
substitute  for  grass,  that  went  by,  regaling  her  with  a  rich 
spicy  fragrance,  she  was  saluted  by  the  slang  and  ugly 
mirth  of  the  drivers.  Men  and  boys  were  seen  going  to  the 
Tavern  for  their  eleven  o'clock,  and  in  the  sun  before 
the  house  lay  Mr.  Tapley,  boosily  sleeping,  with  his  bare 
head  pillowed  on  a  scythe-snath. 

She  was  not  sorry  to  turn  into  the  Delectable  Way,  a 
name  by  which  she  had  enlivened  the  road  from  Avernus 
to  the  Pond  ;  and  perhaps  on  the  whole  it  never  seemed  to 
her  more  pleasant.  She  had  often  traversed  it  with  the 
rum-bottle,  baskets  of  chestnuts  and  bags  of  yarn,  she  had 
been  carried  over  it  by  her  brothers,  once  she  was  borne  up 
it  in  the  proud  arms  of  an  exulting  populace.  It  was  steep, 
narrow,  rough,  winding.  It  had  contributed  to  the  elas- 
ticity of  her  muscles  and  vigor  of  her  heart.  Now  it 
glowed  with  wild-flowers,  which  the  lavish  fertility  of  nature 
pours  into  every  open  space.  It  was  a  warm  day,  and  the 
sunbeams  were  strongly  reflected  from  the  gray  pebbles 
and  glassy  grit  of  the  road,  but  a  breeze  from  the  valley 
and  another  in  her  soul,  gave  her  endurance  and  self- 
possession. 

She  was  going  home,  and  this,  however  such  a  home 
might  seem  to  many  of  her  readers,  was,  we  have  reason  to 
believe,  in  her  mind  an  endeared  consideration ;  she  had 
been  disappointed  in  the  School,  sadly,  greviously;  her 
heart  was  wrung  in  a  manner  that  only  a  schoolmistress 
can  know ;  it  cannot  be  told.  She  nevertheless  consoled 
herself  with  calling  to  mind  how  much  her  scholars  loved 
her,  how  kind  some  of  the  villagers  had  been  to  her,  and 
she  might  have  decided  the  matter  at  once  by  reflecting 
how  utterly  impossible  it  was,  all  things  taken  together,  to 
have  maintained  a  generous  footing  with  the  people  at 


288  MARGARET. 

large ;  she  was  encompassed  by  those  subtle  and  exquisite 
ministries  of  nature  that  can  be  enjoyed  at  every  period  of 
life  and  are  capable  of  reaching  the  most  desponding,  and 
which  operate  to  mitigate  the  sense  of  sorrow,  and  impart 
lustre  to  our  most  temperate  enjoyments.  There  was 
besides  an  unnamed,  undeveloped  feeling  in  her  own 
breast,  welling  and  provoking,  partly  inquisitiveness,  partly 
wonder,  partly  logic,  partly  tkoughtfulness,  partly  she  knew 
not  what,  that  heightened  the  interest  of  all  things.  This 
feeling,  we  have  cause  to  believe,  was  allied  in  character  to 
what  it  approximated  in  moral  place,  that  which  had  been 
sported  between  her  and  the  Master  as  "  Anagogicalness," 
whereby  seems  to  have  been  intended  any  or  all  kinds  of 
profundity  of  uncertainty ;  seems,  we  say,  for  the  compiler 
of  this  Memoir  professes  to  know  no  more  of  the  matter 
than  any  of  its  readers. 

On  a  side  of  the  road  was  the  cow-path  winding  among 
sweet-fern  and  whortleberry  bushes,  where  she  a  little  girl 
used  to  walk,  and  even  hide  under  their  shade.  The  great 
red  daddocks  lay  in  the  green  pastures  where  they  had 
lain  year  after  year,  crumbling  away,  and  sending  forth 
innumerable  new  and  pleasant  forms.  On  a  large  rock 
grew  a  thistle,  the  flower  of  which  a  yellow-breeched  bee 
and  a  tortoise-shelled  butterfly  quietly  tasted  of  together. 
Farther  off,  in  the  edge  of  a  dark  green  forest,  twinkled  the 
small  sunflower,  like  a  star.  She  walked  on  with  a  bank 
of  beautiful  flowers  on  either  side,  golden-rods,  blue-vervain, 
flea-bane,  and  others,  which  she  saw  come  up  in  the  Spring, 
watched  from  month  to  month,  and  would  yet  behold  giving 
food  to  the  little  birds  in  midwinter,  and  which  had 
become  a  part  of  her  yearly  life.  A  thin  stream  of  water 
emerging  from  a  copse  of  fox-colored  cotton  thistle  and 
high  blackberries,  ran  across  the  road.  The  sky  was  blue 


MR.   ANONYMOUS.  289 

above  her,  relieved  and  variegated  by  mares-tail  clouds, 
from  which  some  would  augur  a  rain,  and  over  her  left 
shoulder  paled  the  midday  moon.  Her  path  in  some 
places  was  carpeted  with  the  tassels  of  the  late  flowering 
chestnut.  A  pig  in  a  yoke  starting  from  the  bushes 
scampered  before  her  as  for  dear  life,  its  ears  shaking  like 
poplar  leaves,  and  dashed  out  of  sight  into  the  bushes 
again.  The  birds  having  finished  their  spring  melodies 
gave  themselves  up  to  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  the  season 
they  so  delightfully  introduced,  and  were  no  otherwise 
observable  than  in  an  occasional  rustle  among  the  trees. 
She  made  a  nosegay  for  Chilion  of  yellow  loose-strife, 
purple  spearmint,  pale  blue  monkey  flower,  small  white  buds 
of  cow-wheat ;  and  a  smaller  one  for  Rose,  a  stem  of 
mountain  laurel  leaves,  red  cedar  with  blueberries,  and  a 
bunch  of  the  white  hard-hack,  a  cream-like  flower,  innerly 
blushing. 

While  thus  employed,  there  appeared  in  the  road  before 
her  a  gentleman,  who  seemed  to  have  just  issued  from  the 
trees,  and  whom  she  fancied  she  had  seen  retreating  within 
doors  at  the  Tavern,  as  she  came  by,  and  who,  if  it  were  so, 
must  have  hastened  across  through  the  woods  while  she 
loitered  on  the  way.  The  face  of  this  gentleman  was 
strikingly  marked  by  a  suit  of  enormous  black  whiskers  that 
flowed  together  and  united  under  his  chin.  His  age  might 
have  been  four-and-twenty ;  his  eye  was  black  and  piercing, 
but  softened  by  an  affectionate  expression  ;  his  look  was 
animated,  and  a  courteous  smile  played  upon  his  lip.  His 
dress  was  more  elegant  than  that  of  the  young  men  of 
Livingston,  a  scarlet  coat  delicately  embroidered  with  buff 
facings,  a  richly  tambored  waistcoat,  lace  ruffles,  white  silk 
breeches  and  stockings,  and  a  round  brimmed  hat.  He  ad- 
dressed her  with  deference  and  urbanity,  and  asked  if  he 

VOL.  i  25. 


290  MARGARET. 

might  have  the  pleasure  of  accompanying  her  up  the  hill. 
"  I  am  rambling  about  the  country,"  said  he,  "  and  pursue 
whatever  is  novel  and  interesting,  and  hope  my  presence, 
Madam,  will  not  disoblige  you?  This  is  a  bleak  place, 
and  I  should  think  you  would  sometimes  lack  for  variety." 
"  It  is  a  very  beautiful  spot  to  me,"  she  replied,  "  and — " 
"  Ir  deed,"  said  he,  "I  did  not  mean  that  it  was  not 
beautiful,  only  there  are  eo  few  people  here, — yet  per- 
haps you  are  one  who  has  the  felicity  of  being  contented 
anywhere.  A  boquet !  What  a  rare  profusion  of  flowers. 
The  atmosphere  is  redolent  of  sweetness.  Most  charming 
day  this."  So  they  talked  of  the  weather,  the  season,  the 
place,  till  they  reached  the  summit  of  the  road.  Before 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  the  gentleman  suddenly 
stopping,  said,  "  Might  I  venture  to  hope,  Madam,  if  in  my 
rural  strolls  I  should  chance  again  to  encounter  you,  it 
would  not  be  disagreeable  ?  "  "  What  is  your  name,  sir  ?" 
said  she.  "  I  am — Anonymous,  Mr.  Anonymous  ; — does 
not  that  savor  of  the  romantic,  of  which  I  see  you  are 
passionately  fond  ?  "  "  All  wind-fall  comers  here  seem  to 
be  without  names,"  said  she  ;  "but  there  is  really  so  little 
in  a  name,  that  I  do  not  care  much  about  it."  "  Are  there 
other  strangers  besides  myself  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Yes," 
she  replied,  "  we  have  one  who  would  be  anonymous  at 
first,  but  she  allows  herself  to  be  called  Rose  now,  though 
she  is  so  frail  she  can  hardly  support  any  name."  '•  Rose, 
Rose,"  rejoined  he  with  a  repetition,  "  that  is  a  very  pretty 
name  indeed."  Politely  bidding  her  good  morning,  he 
went  down  the  hill. 

Margaret  hastened  home  to  recount  her  misfortunes, 
intelligence  of  which  must  have  preceded  her,  and  enjoy  the 
commiseration  of  her  friends.  Bull  with  Dick  on  his  back 
ran  out  to  meet  her, — the  only  member  of  the  family  who 


MR.   ANONYMOUS.  291 

did  not  know  what  had  befallen  her,  and  whose  expression 
of  unuiingled  delight  gave  her  a  momentary  deep  pain  in 
the  way  of  contrast,  and  yet  in  the  end  tended  to  reassure 
her  and  bring  her  back  to  her  former  state.  After  dinner 
she  went  to  the  Widow  Wright's  to  see  Rose,  whom  un- 
fortunately she  found  plunged  in  the  deepest  melancholy, 
and  the  more  distressing  for  that  it  could  render  no  reason 
for  itself.  Margaret  strove  by  every  effort  to  compose  her 
friend,  but  in  vain.  She  remained  a  while,  but  found  her 
own  tenderness  fully  reciprocated,  that  Rose  was  pained 
because  she  was  pained,  that  she  increased  what  she 
endeavored  to  dispel,  and  thus  without  the  possibility  of 
gaining  intelligence  or  affording  relief,  she  could  do  more 
than  embrace  the  sad  one  and  go  home. 

Shortly  afterwards,  as  she  was  occupied  one  morning 
with  a  book  in  the  shade  of  the  woods  near  the  Delectable 
Way,  she  was  aroused  by  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Anonymous. 
"  Have  you  read  Cynthia  ?  "  said  he,  after  concluding  the 
compliments  of  the  hour.  "  I  saw  it  at  the  village  the  other 
day,"  she  replied.  "  It  is  a  charming  novel,"  said  he.  "  I 
do  not  know  as  I  am  capable  of  understanding  it,"  she 
rejoined.  "  I  mean  it  is  a  delightful  thing  to  toss  off  a  dull 
hour  with.  Are  you  never  afflicted  with  any  such  ?  "  "  Not 
often."  "  Are  no  dangers  to  be  apprehended  in  a  place 
like  this ? "  "I  never  have  any  fears."  "  I  see  you  know 
how  to  diversify  your  time.  As  you  would  walk,  Madam, 
let  me  assist  you.  Allow  me  to  remove  that  bit  of  brush 
from  your  path."  "  I  thank  you,  Sir,  I  never  mind  the 
trees."  "  I  am  tempted  to  help  you  over  that  rock." 
"  These  rocks  are  no  more  formidable  than  our  kitchen 
doorsill."  "  How  rich  these  woods  are  in  flowers  !  " 
"  Indeed  they  are."  "  The  most  beautiful  are  not  the 


292  MARGARET. 

most  esteemed."    "  I  fear  they  are  not."     "  With  great 
justice  the  Poet  writes, — 

'  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen ! '  " 

"  That  is  well  said.  I  find  new  ones  every  Spring,  and 
there  are  many  yet  hidden  in  the  dark  abyss  of  the  earth." 
So  talked  they  a  while,  when  the  young  gentleman  again 
took  an  abrubt  but  civil  departure,  acting  it  would  appear 
on  the  principle  that  short  visits  make  long  friends. 

Margaret  was  obedient  to  her  parents  and  faithful  to 
the  house,  so  that  she  was  allowed  many  indulgences,  the 
chief  of  which  consisted  in  leisure  for  her  own  pursuits. 
She  rose  early,  did  her  work  with  spirit,  and  her  enjoyment 
suffered  but  little  from  the  exactions  of  her  mother  or  the 
domineering  of  Hash.  A  peculiarity  of  fog-scenery  as 
observed  from  the  Head,  a  phenomenon  in  its  perfect 
development  occurring  only  two  or  three  times  a  year,  took 
her  to  that  point.  The  fogs  arising  from  the  River  lay 
wholly  below  her,  dispersed  like  a  flocculent  ocean  over  the 
interval  between  the  Pond  and  the  Mountain  beyond.  As 
if  an  entire  firmanent  of  purest  white  clouds  had  fallen  into 
the  valley,  these  masses  of  mist  were  piled  in  chaotic 
beauty,  and  into  them  the  sun  poured  its  intensest,  beams. 
Like  a  silver  flood  they  rolled  before  the  winds,  they  overran 
the  high  grounds  of  the  Pond,  and  swept  the  base  of  the 
hill  on  which  she  stood.  They  were  an  organic  lustre 
sublimated  wool,  spiritualized  alabaster ;  they  glowed  like 
snow-flames.  It  was  to  summer  what  snow  is  to  winter,  a 
robe  of  whiteness  thrown  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  It 
was  not  often  she  could  look  down  upon  the  fogs  with  the 
pure  dry  air  about  her.  She  had  been  in  them,  sailing  on 
the  Pond  or  traversing  the  woods,  when  they  seemed  to  fall 


THE   FOG-DELUGE.  293 

from  the  sky  and  drizzled  rain-like  over  the  earth;  now 
she  was  over  them,  and  could  command  their  extent  and 
grandeur. 

Higher  and  higher  they  rose,  till  only  the  top  of  the  But- 
ternut and  the  peak  of  the  forest  were  visible.  She  fancied 
that  the  visions  of  her  dreams  were  composed  of  fogs,  and 
thought  she  saw  fair  Ideal  Beauty  as  it  were  precipitated 
in  them  chemically,  and  becoming  animated,  like  the  Beau- 
tiful Lady.  A  new  Venus,  of  whom  she  had  read,  was  in- 
deed sprung  from  this  foam ;  and  she  looked  when  she 
should  swim  for  the  Butternut,  as  for  a  green  island,  and 
she  would  run  down  and  embrace  her ;  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, a  great  black  crow  flew  up  from  these  bridal  waves, 
a  true  make-shift  for  Vulcan. 

But  a  more  substantial  apparition  engaged  her  attention. 
At  the  edge  of  the  platform  on  which  she  stood  arose  an 
enormous  pair  of  whiskers,  speedily  followed  by  the  well 
dressed  young  gentleman  to  whom  they  belonged,  Mr. 
Anonymous,  who,  for  some  reason  unexplained,  perhaps 
because  it  savored  more  of  the  romantic  of  which  he  was 
an  admirer,  had  chosen  a  very  unusual  and  almost  inacces- 
sible route  to  the  summit  of  the  Head.  Apologizing  for 
his  intrusion,  he  hoped  he  had  not  disturbed  the  tenor  of 
the  young  lady's  reveries.  "  I  cannot  be  disturbed  by  one 
who  enjoys  the  scene,"  replied  Margaret.  "  The  fog  is 
uncivil,"  added  Mr.  Anonymous,  "it  has  quite  drenched 
me.  If  it  would  clear  away  I  think  there  would  be  afforded 
a  very  charming  prospect.  I  wonder  I  had  not  sought  it 
out  before.  Yet  the  view  which  the  place  itself  affords, 
Madam,  is  unimpaired,  and  would  richly  repay  clambering 
up  a  much  rougher  way."  "  I  fear  you  must  have  fatigued 
yourself,"  said  she,  "  you  missed  the  path."  "  It  matters 
little  how  I  came,  since  I  am  well  here,  and  in  the  presT 
25* 


294  MARGARET. 

ence  of  so  fair  an  object."  "  I  am  glad  to  have  an  asso- 
ciate in  contemplations  like  these,"  answered  Margaret. 
"  Perhaps,  Sir,  you  can  aid  me  in  resolving  the  exceeding 
mystery  of  all  these  things."  "  I  should  be  most  felicitated  to 
join  you  in  any  thing."  "  That  beauty  and  our  beauty,  how 
are  they  related?"  "I  see  your  beauty,  and  I  scarcely 
think  of  that."  "  But  there  is  a  connection,  I  feel  it.  The 
beauty  that  is  in  me  either  gives  or  is  given.  Or  there  is 
some  cause  that  creates  both,  and  unites  them  like  musical 
chords."  "  Your  beauty,  most  enchanting  lady,  since  you 
lead  me  to  speak  of  it,  consists  in  symmetry  and  color,  those 
eyebrows,  your  forehead,  your  lips,  that  dark  curling  hair ; 
it  brings  me  near  to  you.  Nay,  pardon  my  presumption." 
"  Do  look  at  that  pile  swimming  through  the  mass,  like  a 
polar  bear !"  "  Nay,  loveliest !  I  can  look  only  at  thee." 
"Then  I  will  go  away  ;  there  is  enough  besides  to  look  at." 
"  Beauteous  being !  do  not  leave  me.  Do  not  shun  the 
person  of  one  who  adores  you."  "  Adores  me !  Ha !  ha !  " 
"  I  kneel  at  your  feet,  sweet  Madam,  allow  me  to  take  your 
hand."  "  More  mystery  still !  What  is  there  in  my  hand  ?  " 
"  May  I  be  so  presumptuous  as  to  believe  that  with  your 
hand  you  would  also  bestow  your  heart  ? "  "I  havn't  any 
heart."  "  Have  I  vainly  cherished  the  hope  that  my  per- 
son had  made  some  impression  on  you  ?  "  "  What,  your 
clothes  ?  "  "  O,  you  will  not  trifle  with  me.  Your  man- 
ner has  been  such  as  to  inspire  the  hope  that  my  feelings 
toward  you  were  reciprocated."  "I  would  not  trifle  with 
you.  I  thought  you  better  dressed  than  the  young  men 
hereabouts.  But  do  see  how  the  Mountain  shines  in  its 
dewy  robe !  "  "  Be  not  so  severe ;  do  not  retreat  from  me  ; 
render  some  condescension  to  my  poor  plaints."  "  I  know 
not  what  you  desire."  "  Yourself,  Madam,  is  the  supremest 
object  of  my  wishes.  Allow  me  to  press  your  fingers  to 


THE   FOG-DELUGE.  295 

my  lips."  "I  cannot  stay  here,  Sir,  I  shall  leap  off  into 
the  Pond."  "  O,  fairest  of  creatures,  be  not  so  cruel. 
Blame  me  not  if  I  reveal  I  love  you,  never  before  unfortu- 
nate if  you  prove  pitiless,  never  before  happy  if  you  prove 
kind."  "  See,  the  mists  are  fast  rising,  we  shall  be  thor- 
oughly wet  if  we  stay  much  longer."  "  Dissipate,  Madam, 
the  distressing  apprehensions  your  words  create.  My  pur- 
poses are  legitimate,  I  offer  you  marriage,  I  offer  you  a  for- 
tune. Our  banns  shall  be  published  in  the  neighboring 
Church  the  next  Sabbath."  "  I  must  own,  Sir,  you  do 
sadly  disturb  me  now.  Your  presence  is  becoming  an  in- 
trusion." "  You  will  slip  from  the  rock,  you  will  fall  into 
those  hideous  waters."  "  Beautiful  waters,  and  I  could  al- 
most wish  to  drop  through  the  beamy  air  into  them."  "  I 
will  not  approach  you  nearer ;  I  will  abide  at  a  distance, 
till  you  say  the  dear,  dear  word  that  shall  make  me  hap- 
py." "  Do  not  be  afraid  of  me.  I  would  make  the  birds 
and  toads  and  every  thing  about  me  happy."  "I  protest  my 
designs  are  honorable  as  my  sentiments  are  invincible. 
Consider  what  I  shall  bestow  upon  you." 

•  Now  what  should  appear  but  our  old  friend  Obed,  tear- 
ing his  stalwart  knobby  frame  through  the  bushes,  and 
being  somewhat  short  of  sight,  a  defect  that  was  aggravated 
by  the  prevalent  haze,  wholly  mistaking  the  nature  of  the 
scene.  Seeing  Margaret,  as  he  thought,  driven  to  the 
verge  of  the  precipice  by  the  violence  of  the  man  whose 
fervid  exclamations  he  had  confounded  with  demonstrations 
of  a  more  fatal  character,  he  made  a  tempestuous  lunge  at 
the  fellow  and  trussed  him  in  his  long  arms.  In  the  strug- 
gle that  ensued,  both  fell  and  rolled  down  the  hill,  perform- 
ing a  kind  of  horizontal  waltz,  through  briers,  over  rocks, 
quite  to  the  bottom.  Margaret  running  after,  screamed  to 
Obed  to  quit  his  hold,  but  in  vain  ;  they  finished  the  descent 


296  MARGARET. 

before  she  could  overtake  them.  The  face  of  Mr.  Anony- 
mous was  not  a  little  bruised  nnd  his  dress  soiled ;  nor  did 
Obed  escape  without  some  little  damage.  Pluck  and  his 
wife  ran  out  at  the  alarm,  Margaret  proffered  the  unfortu- 
nate gentleman  every  assistance  in  her  power ;  but  as  if 
disposed  to  withdraw  from  observation,  he  made  a  very 
rapid  retreat,  forgetting  even  his  customary  civilities  in  the 
hurry  of  departure,  and  was  seen  no  more  at  the  Pond. 


MARGARET. — MR.  EVELYN. — CHRIST.  297 


CHAPTER  II. 

MARGARET. MR.  EVELYN. — CHRIST. 

We  would  come  nearer  to  Margaret ;  we  have  kept  too 
much  aloof.  What  she  denied  to  Mr.  Anonymous,  she 
will  grant  to  her  readers,  who,  as  a  parent,  have  watched 
about  her  from  her  babyhood, — a  more  intimate  approxi- 
mation. And  if  Isabel  spoke  correctly  when  she  said 
Margaret  could  bear  the  truth,  she  can  certainly  bear  to  be 
looked  at,  a  distinction  not  mortifying  to  most  young  ladies. 
She  denied  that  she  had  a  heart ;  has  she  any  ?  If  she  has 
none,  unlike  most  young  ladies,  in  another  respect  also  she 
differs  from  many  of  her  sex  and  age — she  can  make  good 
butter,  which  she  did  this  very  morning,  churning  it  in  the 
cool  dawn,  working  it  out,  salting  it,  and  depositing  it  in  a 
cellar  which,  if  it  possessed  no  other  merit,  boasted  this  at 
least,  that  it  was  cold  and  free  of  flies.  It  has  been  inti- 
mated, and  may  come  up  again  for  affirmation,  that  Mar- 
garet was  brought  up  on  bread  and  cider  and  bean  porridge. 
This,  however,  must  not  be  taken  too  literally.  The  facts 
in  the  case  are  these,  sometimes  the  family  kept  a  cow,  and 
sometimes  they  did  not.  But  to  our  purpose. 

This  morning,  after  churning  and  breakfast,  she  went 
out  to  a  favorite  spot,  a  little  below  the  house,  on  the 
Delectable  Way,  lying  in  the  shade  of  the  eastern  forest. 
If  Bull  followed,  it  was  rather  from  habit  than  necessity, 
since  she  was  wont  to  go  where  she  listed,  unattended, 
relying  chiefly  upon  a  pair  of  pretty  strong  arms,  and  what- 


298  MARGARET. 

ever  defence  against  danger  is  to  be  found  in  not  fearing 
it.     It  is  here,   precisely  in  this  morning  retreat,  that  we 
propose  to  take  a  look  at  her.     The  place  she  has  chosen, 
characterized   chiefly  by   forest   associations   and   aspect, 
opens  to  the  south,  where  are  visible  the  Avernian  hills, 
and  to  the  zenith,  where  is  the  everlasting  sky.     No  sound, 
save  the  solitary  crowing  of  a  cock  in  some  distant  farmyard 
or  the  barking  of  a  fox  in  the  slumbering  woods.    Near  her 
indeed  is  a  drowsy  kind  of  music  box,  in  a  bed  of  yellow 
brakes,  inhabited  by  innumerable  crickets  and  grasshoppers, 
that  keep  up  a  perpetual  lulling  murmur.      She  holds  in 
her  hand  a  book,  or  rather  her  arm  lying  on  the  ground  the 
book  lies  there  too,  closed  on  her  fore-finger.     The  book, 
we  shall  see,  is  an  old  one,  so  very  old,  its  leathern  back 
has  changed  into  a  polished  mahogany  hue;   it  is  in  Latin, 
and  the  title  anglicized  reads,   "  The  Marrow  of  Theology, 
by  William  Ames,"  a  Dutchman.     Down  the  hill  a  little 
ways,  in  a  pasture  of  solemn  rocks  and  gaudy  elecampane, 
are  very  contentedly  feeding  two  red  cows.      Whether  she 
saw  these  or  not  she  looked  at  them,  and  now  her  eye  lifts 
upwards.     What  we  looking  upwards  see  is  a  group  of 
clouds,  massive  and  dense,  with  white  tops,  dark  cavernous 
sides,   and   broad  bases   deepening  into  a  bluish   leaden 
color,  having   their   summits   disposed   about   a   common 
centre,  and  forming  a  circular  avenue,  at  the  end  of  which 
lie  boundless  fields  of  fairest  ultramarine.     We  can  hardly 
tell  what  she  does  see.     Let  us  look  at  her  eyes  and  see 
what  she  seems  to  see. 

We  shall  discover  if  we  keep  a  good  memory  that  those 
organs  have  changed  since  her  childhood.  Tlien,  her  eyes 
perceived  with  briskness  and  disposed  of  their  objects  with 
ease.  The  external  world  made  a  rapid  transit  through 
them,  enlivened  and  graced  her  spirit,  and  returned ;  and 


MARGARET'S   EYES.  299 

since  material  substances  are  by  this  process  transmuted 
into  moral  emotions,  and  the  nerves  of  the  face  are  sympa- 
thetic throughout,  a  beautiful  flower  for  example,  borne  in 
on  the  optic  nerve,  would  come  out  an  irradiation  of  joy 
generously  covering  the  countenance.  Now,  a  world  has 
been  created  in  her  eyes  ;  outward  objects  no  longer  pass 
immediately  through,  but  are  caught  and  detained,  as  it 
would  seem,  for  inquisition.  Some  are  seen  to  sink  with  a 
sullen  plunge  into  the  dark  waters  of  her  soul ;  some  she 
seizes  upon  and  throws  out  among  the  waste  things  of  the 
earth  ;  others  again  get  in  by  stealth,  creep  round  upon  her 
nerves,  come  out  and  sit  on  her  eye-winkers  and  lips  and 
play  their  old  pranks  of  beauty  and  joy  ;  anon  some  fair 
large  object,  that  she  suffers  to  pass,  floods  her  spirit  and 
drowns  out  every  thing  else ;  a  full  proportion  of  these 
objects,  it  would  appear,  are  assigned  to  the  region  of  the 
Anagogical.  "We  cannot  say  she  is  "  sicklied  o'er  with  the 
pale  cast  of  thought,"  yet  her  expression  is  subdued  if  it  be 
not  positively  sober,  with  a  mixed  aspect  of  fervid  aspira- 
tion and  annoying  uncertainty.  The  clouds  have  shifted 
their  places  and  forms,  the  cows  quietly  feed  on,  and  she 
betakes  herself  to  reading.  The  click  of  a  horse-foot  on  the 
stones  of  the  Delectable  Way  arouses  her,  the  cows  look 
up,  and  so  does  she. 

Strangers  in  Livingston  frequently  visited  Indian's  Head 
for  the  sake  of  its  fine  scenery ;  they  went  to  and  fro 
taking  little  notice  of  the  inhabitants,  and  with  extreme 
consideration  avoided  laying  upon  them  the  slightest  burden 
of  civility  or  attention  ;  and  Margaret,  accustomed  to  these 
transient  manners,  would  have  suffered  the  present  to  pass 
as  an  ordinary  instance,  save  that,  with  a  stranger  man  on 
horseback,  she  saw  little  Job  Luce — little  he  was,  though 
older  than  when  she  first  knew  him — on  the  pommel  of 


300  MARGARET. 

the  saddle  in  the  arms  of  the  rider  ;  and  when  they  were 
over  against  her  in  the  road,  Job  caused  the  man  to  stop. 
"  That's  it,"  said  Job, "  that's  the  Pond."  "  I  don't  see  any 
water,"  replied  the  man,  "  nothing  but  a  rock  and  a 
woman."  "  That's  Margery,"  reiterated  the  boy,  "  and 
that  is  where  she  sits,  and  I  find  her  there  most  always." 
"  Is  she  the  Pond  ?  "  asked  the  other.  "  She  had  always 
rather  be  in  the  woods  than  in  the  house,"  continued  Job, 
"she  pricks  flowers  into  her  bonnet  instead  of  ribbons,  and 
likes  to  hear  the  birds  sing  Sundays  better  than  Zenas  Joy, 
the  new  chorister." 

Meanwhile  Job,  lowered  from  the  horse,  stood  holding  by 
the  snaffle,  and  insisting  that  the  gentleman  should  likewise 
dismount.  His  manifest  anxiety  brought  Margaret  also  to 
the  spot.  "  That  is  Margery,  do  stop  and  see  her — here, 
Margery,  is  a  billet  from  Isabel." 

"  I  overtook  this  little  fellow  on  the  way,"  said  the 
stranger  "  and  as  he  seemed  but  a  sorry  traveller,  I  thought 
my  horse  could  better  do  that  office  for  him." 

"  If  you  will  stop,  I  guess  she  will  go  with  you  up  the 
Head,  you  have  been  so  good  to  me,"  said  Job,  with  re- 
newed earnestness. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  Sir,  if  Job  wishes  me 
to,"  said  Margaret.  The  young  man  left  his  horse  among 
the  trees,  and  walked  with  Job  and  Margaret  to  the  spot 
occupied  by  the  latter. 

"  Since  you  have  been  so  fairly  introduced,"  said  he,  ad- 
dressing Margaret, "  I  ought  to  make  myself  known;  Charles 
Evelyn — Judge  Morgridge  is  my  uncle — perhaps  you  are 
acquainted  with  his  daughter  Susan  ?  " 

"  I  am  not,"  replied  Margaret,  "  but  I  have  heard  my 
friend  Isabel  Weeks  speak  of  her.  This  is  Job  Luce,  one 
among  the  very  few  friends  of  whom  I  can  boast  in  the 
village." 


MARGARET  AND  MR.  EVELYN.  301 

"  He  seems  very  much  attached  to  you,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Evelyn,  "  so  feeble,  to  walk  so  far  to  see  you.  He  said 
there  was  some  one  at  the  Pond  who  knew  almost  every 
thing  and  loved  him  very  much." 

".I  do  love  Job,  poor  boy,  he  has  but  few  to  love  him, 
and  his  love  for  me  produces  a  cyanosis,  as  Mr.  Elliman, 
my  old  Master,  says,  whereby  we  do  not  see  things  clearly, 
and  so  he  thinks  very  highly  of  me,  as  I  know  I  do  of 
him." 

«'  She  knows  Whippoorwill,"  said  Job,  "  and  that  is  more 
than  the  Parson  does,  if  she  don't  go  to  Meeting." 
"  I  know  nothing,"  replied  Margaret. 
"  Have  you  no  home,  no  father  or  mother  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Evelyn.     "  Do  you  live  in  these  woods  ?  " 

"  There  is  our  house  behind  the  trees  yonder,"  said  Mar- 
garet ;  "  there  are  my  father  and  mother ;  there  is  my 
brother  Chilion ;  I  have  books,  a  squirrel,  and  a  boat ;  the 
trees,  the  water,  the  birds  all  are  mine,  only  I  do  not  under- 
stand all." 

"The  Master,"  interposed  Job,  "said  she  understood 
Latin  as  well  as  Hancock  Welles  who  has  gone  to 
College." 

"  Yes  indeed,"  rejoined  Margaret,  smiling,  "  I  can  say  as 
he  did  once,  when  pursuing  me  in  the  woods  he  was  over- 
taken by  a  bear,  *  Veni,  vidi,  victa  sum.'  I  am  lost  in  my 
gains ;  every  acquisition  I  make  conquers  me." 

"  The  vici,"  replied  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  is  a  rare  attainment. 
It  is  easier  to  know  than  to  be  masters  of  our  knowledge ; — 
I  see  from  your  book  you  are  exploring  an  abstruse  subject 
through   what  some  would   regard  an   abstruse  medium. 
Theology  is  not  always  rendered  plainer  for  being  put  in 
plain  English.     Do  you  find  it  cleared  up  in  Latin  ?  " 
"  My  teacher,"  answered  Margaret,  "  says  Latin  is  the 
VOL.  i.  26 


302  MARGARET. 

tongue  of  the  learned ;  and  so,  most  curiously,  to  convict  me 
for  a  fool  as  it  would  seem,  he  commends  me  to  my  studies 
in  it.  I  asked  him  some  questions,  and  he  gave  me  this 
book,  but  not  so  much  in  the  way  of  a  reply,  I  ween,  as  a 
repulse.  I  can  construe  the  sentences,  distinguish  the 
supine  in  u  ;  but,  the  ideas — gramercy !  I  had  as  lief 
encounter  a  troop  of  bull-beggars,  or  undertake  to  explain 
the  secrets  of  the  nostrummonger  that  lives  above  us.  I 
am  caught  by  my  own  fish,  as  brother  Nimrod  says,  and 
dragged  into  an  element  where  I  pant  and  flounder  as  any 
strange  creature  would  in  ours." 

"  Mammy  says,"  explained  Job,  "  it  is  because  Margery 
is  proud,  has  a  natural  heart,  and  won't  bend  her  will 
down,  and  so  she  lost  the  School.  But  she  isn't  proud  to 
me  ;  she  used  to  lead  me  home  all  the  way  from  School. 
Hester  Penrose,  the  other  Ma'am,  never  would  touch  me 
or  speak  to  me  out  of  school ;  and  when  we  were  in,  she 
only  spoke  hard  to  me,  and  whipped  me,  because  I  caught 
the  grasshoppers  that  flew  in  and  stopped  to  hear  Whip- 
poorwill — I  could  hear  it  in  the  windows.  She  wouldn't 
give  me  a  ticket  either,  for  all  I  got  my  lessons  well. — 
Arthur  Morgridge  said  I  got  them  better  than  he,  and  he 
had  a  ticket." 

"  Your  mother,  Job,"  said  Margaret,  "  and  Deacon 
llamsdill  don't  agree ;  he  applauds  me  for  having  a  nateral 
heart,  as  he  calls  it,  and  says  he  hopes  my  will  never'll  be 
broke  ;  he  says  a  broken  will  is  no  better  than  a  broken 
back.  But,  of  what  we  were  speaking,  Mr.  Evelyn  ;  are 
you  familiar  with  these  ideas,  these  things,  these  what-nots? 
Or  are  you,  like  all  the  rest,  only  a  dainty,  white  hand- 
kerchief sort  of  a  traveller  among  the  hills  ?  " 

"  I  have  dabbled  a  little  in  a  good  many  matters,"  replied 
the  young  gentleman,  "  and  if  there  be  any  points  that 


MARGARET  AND  MR.  EVELYN.  303 

trouble  you,  more  than  as  likely  as  not  it  will  be  found  our 
troubles  are  not  dissimilar,  only  it  sometimes  results  that 
difficulties  of  this  sort  once  fairly  stated  are  dispelled  ;  the 
attempt  to  give  them  form  annihilates  them — they  pass 
away  in  the  breath  that  pronounces  them." 

"  A  fine  prospect,  indeed  !  "  responded  Margaret.  "  I 
shall  be  able  to  discharge  the  Universe  at  a  whiff!  But 
soberly,  here  is  the  source  of  all  my  perplexity,  a  quid  and 
a  quis.  The  book,  as  you  see,  discusses  without  satisfying 
the  case.  It  is  '  Quid  sit  Deus,'  or  "  Quis  sit  Deus,'  what 
is  God,  or,  who  is  God.  He,  that  is  the  Master,  says  I  did 
not  put  the  question  right  at  first,  and  nulla  vestigia 
retrorsum,  I  have  been  going  wrong  ever  since.  We  have 
quis'd  and  quid'd  it  together,  till  my  brain  whirls  and  my 
mind  aches.  Who  is  God?  I  will  ask.  'Do  you  intend,' 
he  replies,  '  entity  or  form  ?  If  the  first  then  you  should 
say,  What  is  God ;  Who  is  not  What,  my  child.  Lan- 
guage has  its  rules  as  well  as  that  whereto  it  applies. 
Informal  language  on  formal  subjects  is  altogether  contrary 
to  logic.'  Good  Heavens  !  say  I,  I  don't  know  which  I 
mean.  '  Then  do  not  talk  until^  you  know  what  you  are 
talking  about ;  let  us  finish  this  game  of  backgammon.' 
To  complete  my  distress  he  has  given  me  this  book  !  There 
is  one  pretty  thing  in  it,  the  little  boy  with  a  girlish  face  in 
the  frontispiece.  He  is  holding  up  a  big  book  before  the 
door  of  some  temple.  Would  the  look  would  remove,  then 
we  could  enter  the  mysterious  place.  Alack-a-day  \ 
*  Where  there's  a  secret  there  must  be  something  wrong,' 
good  Deacon  Ramsdill  says,  and  I  believe  it." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "Father  Ames  touches 
fairly  on  these  topics.  '  Quid  sit  Deus,  nemo  potest 
perfecte  definire,'  what  God  is  we  cannot  perfectly  define; 
but '  Quis  sit  explicant,'  who  he  is  his  attributes  sufficiently 
make  known." 


• 

% 
304  MARGARET. 

"Read  another  page,"  said  Margaret,  <1  Tim.  vi.  16, 
Lucem  habitans  inaccessam,'  &c.  What  is  referred  to  there 
seems  very  mystified  indeed.  The  only  Tim  that  I  am 
acquainted  with  is  our  neighbor's  horse." 

"  Don't  speak  so — you  astonish  me.  That  is  language 
addressed  by  the  apostle  Paul  to  a  young  man  whose 
name  was  Timothy.  '  God  dwelleth  in  the  light  which  no 
man  can  approach  unto.'  " 

"  I  did  not  intend  any  harm,  I  had  no  idea  there  was 
any  feeling  in  the  matter.  The  Master  and  the  Parson 
are  always  bringing  in  some  name,  Aristotle,  Moses,  Scotus, 
Paul,  or  somebody,  whom  they  make  responsible  for  what 
they  say,  and  commit  themselves  to  nothing,  laughing  and 
smoking  in  the  mean  time.  They  are  both  as  'amfractuous ' 
as  he  says  I  am,  and  as  '  anagogical'  as  our  little  friend 
Job." 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  is,"  observed  the  boy,  '  but  I 
do  know  Whippoorwill,  and  that  I  shall  die  of  it.  But 
Margery  don't  believe  the  Parson,  and  she  won't  read  the 
Bible." 

"My  troth!  "  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "  There  are 
more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamed  of  in 
my  philosophy,  and  more  in  Livingston  than  I  had 
imagined.  Did  you  never  read  the  Bible?  " 

"No,"  replied  Margaret.  "The  Master  has  endeavored 
that  I  should  never  see  one,  and  the  first  book  he  put  into 
my  hand  when  I  asked  him  about  God  was  Tooke's  Pan- 
theon. There  was  a  great  book  marked  Holy  Bible  on  the 
outside  at  Deacon  Ramsdill's ;  there  were  some  singular 
pictures  in  it,  and  some  singular  reading,  but  not  of  a  na- 
ture to  tempt  me  to  look  far  into  it.  Only  I  remember 
laughing  outright  when  I  came  to  something  just  like  what 
Pa  calls  his  Bible,  and  the  good  Deacon  took  the  book 


MARGARET    AND    MR.     EVELYK.  305 

away.  Pa's  Bible  is  some  leaves  of  a  book  hanging  by  a 
string  on  the  chimney,  and  consists  of  names  beginning 
with  Adam  and  ending  with  Duke  Magdiel,  and  he  always 
uses  it,  he  says,  when  he  christens  his  children.  It  is  sus- 
pended, also,  you  must  know,  directly  over  his  rum  bottle  ; 
and  he  says  he  reads  his  Bible  when  he  drinks  his  rum. 
That  is  our  Bible." 

"  Mammy  gave  you  a  Testament  once,"  said  Job. 

"  The  Master  took  it  away,"  replied  Margaret.  "  He 
said  I  was  not  old  enough  to  understand  it,  or  something  of 
that  sort." 

"  She  doesn't  go  to  Meeting  either,"  added  Job. 

"  Do  you  not  indeed  ?  "   asked  the  young  man. 

"  It  is  not  quite  true  that  I  never  go,"  said  Margaret. 
"  I  have  been  to  a  Camp  Meeting  and  at  Parson  Welles's 
Meeting." 

"  Only  once,"  said  Job. 

"  I  could  hardly  wish  to  go  a  second  time.  Every  thing 
was  turned  topsy-turvy ;  flowers  became  an  abomination ; 
for  walking  the  streets  one  was  liable  to  be  knocked  down  ; 
people  had  on  gay  dresses  and  sepulchral  faces  ;  no  one 
smiled ;  the  very  air  of  the  Green  grew  thick  and  suffo- 
cating ;  sin  lurked  in  every  spot,  and  I  couldn't  do  any  thing 
but  it  was  an  abomination.  I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  it,  and 
escape  to  the  Pond  once  more,  and  breathe  in  brightness 
and  love  from  our  own  skies.  No,  we  never  go  here ;  Pa 
was  put  in  the  stocks  for  hunting  his  cow  one  Sabbath, 
and  he  swears  we  shall  not  go.  I  frighten  you,  Sir,  and 
you  will  have  me  put  in  Jail  right  off." 

"If  I  am  frightened,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  can  hear 
all  you  have  to  say,  and  would  much  prefer  you  should  not 
interrupt  yourself." 

"  I  was  young  then,  and  these  are  old  impressions  which 
2* 


^     306 


MAHGAKKT. 


have  grown  perhaps  somewhat  sour  by  keeping,  and  I 
might  not  feel  just  so  now.  At  the  Camp  Meeting — have 
you  ever  been  to  one  ?  Well,  I  need  not  recount  that. 
The  Preacher  I  could  never  forgive,  only  he  was  so  kind 
to  me  when  I  was  lost  in  the  woods.  That  was  the  pink 
of  what  the  Master  calls  puppetry,  a  hornet's  nest  of  har- 
lequins, saints  bacchanalizing.  "When  I  told  the  Master 
of  some  of  my  accidents  on  these  holy  occasions,  for  in  one  . 
instance  I  liked  to  have  been  sent  to  jail,  and  in  another, 
to  have  been  crushed  to  death,  '  Ne  sutor  ultra  crepidam,' 
said  he,  'you  are  a  shoemaker's  daughter;  mind  your  own 
business,  and  stay  at  home  next  time  ; '  so  I  did.  Nimrod 
once  took  me  to  an  ordination  at  Dunwich,  where  the 
Leech,  who  contrives  to  be  every  where,  accompanied  us. 
It  was  more  like  training-day  than  any  thing  else.  The 
town  was  full  of  people  and  soaking  in  rum.  At  the  Church 
I  was  wedged  in  an  impassable  drift,  but  managed  some- 
how to  crawl  out  like  a  stream  of  water  through  their  legs 
and  feet.  The  Widow  found  means  to  introduce  herself 
and  me  with  her  to  the  dining-hall.  Such  things  were 
enacted  there  as  would  not  disgrace  the  bar-room  at  No.  4. 
Pa,  when  he  is  drunk,  has  far  better  manners  than  those 
sanctiloquent  wigs  exhibited.  It  was  altogether  the  richest 
specimen  of 'deific  temulency'  you  ever  beheld.  The 
side-boards  were  emptied  half  a  dozen  times,  tobacco  smoke 
choked  the  air,  and  to  finish  the  play  one  gray  old  Punch 
with  inimitable  gravity  said  grace  at  the  close.  The  exer- 
cises of  the  day  were  rounded  off  by  a  ball  in  the  evening, 
and  that  was  the  best  of  the  whole,  save  that  the  ministers 
were  not  there  to  give  the  occasion  the  zest  of  their  jokes 
and  laughter — I  supposed  at  the  time  they  were  in  a  state 
of  aquacoelestification,  and  could  not  dance.  But  0 !  O  ! 
O  !  Job,  dear  Job,  I  love  you,  Job !  Why  do  I,  a  poorer 
wretch,  speak  of  these  poor  things  ?  " 


MARGARET  AND  MR.  EVELYN.  307 

This  exclamation  was  followed  by  tears  that  fell  drench- 
ingly  and  hot  on  the  face  of  the  boy  whom  she  clasped  in 
her  arms.  Job  turned  up  his  mild  blue  eye  to  her  and  said, 
"Margaret,  Whippoorwill  sings,  and  Job  don't  cry;  I 
swing  over  the  brook  when  the  boys  tease  me,  and  the 
bubbles  take  away  the  pain ;  1  hear  a  pewee  in  the  woods, 
Margaret,  that  sings  when  the  Whippoorwill  is  gone.  I 
love  you  too,  Margaret,  and  Job's  love  is  good,  the  little 
Mabel  says.  If  there  were  no  innocent  hearts,  there 
would  be  no  white  roses,  Isabel  says." 

"There  were  two  birds  sat  upon  a  stone, 
Fa,  la,  la,  la,  lal,  de,"— 

Margaret  began,  saying,  "  Come,  Job,  sing  too,"  and  they 
both  sung, — 

'•  One  flew  away,  and  then  there  was  one, 

Fa,  la,  la,  la,  lal,  de; 
The  other  flew  after,  and  then  there  was  none, 

Fa,  la,  la,  la,  lal,  de ; 
And  so  the  poor  stone  was  left  all  alone, 

Fa,  la,  la,  la,  lal,  de." 

. "  Now,  Job,"  she  said,  "  we  will  go  and  get  comfrey  root 
for  Chilion's  drink,  and  burdock  leaves  for  drafts  to  draw 
out  all  pains.  "We  shall  detain  the  gentleman." 

"  The  detention  is  rather  on  my  part,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn. 
"  Yet  I  am  truly  unwilling  to  have  you  go." 

"  I  shall  only  offend  you  if  I  stay,"  said  she. 

"  I  have  learned,"  he  replied,  "  never  to  be  offended  with 
any  human  being." 

"  Then  you  are  the  strangest  of  all  human  beings, 
though  I  agree  with  you,  and  find  myself  small  place  for 
offence.  Androides  furentes  create  a  sensation  of  the 
ridiculous  more  than  any  thing  else." 

"  You  seem,"  continued  he,  "  to  be  sincere,  however  mis- 
taken ;  and  I  am  not  a  little  interested  in  what  you  say." 


308  MARGARET. 

"Are  you  sincere?"  she  asked.  Are  you  not  simula- 
crizing?  Yet  I  wrong  you,  Sir,  I  wrong  myself.  It  con- 
fesses itself  within  me,  that  you  are  in  earnest." 

"  That  is  Whippoorwill,"  said  Job. 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  nature,"  said  the  young  man. 

"I  am  not,"  added  Margaret,  "so  brook-like  as  I  used 
to  be,  when  neither  rock  nor  night,  inundation  or  ultimate 
disemboguement  disturbed  my  little  joyous  babble.  The 
beauties  and  sweetnesses,  the  freedom  and  health  that 
surround  me  do  not  so  perfectly  satisfy  me.  I  have  not 
much  of  the  '  acquiescentia  cordis  '  of  which  Father  Ames 
speaks.  My  squirrel,  Dick,  has  been  rolling  about  in  his 
cage  these  many  years,  and  is  contented  with  it  as  ever. 
I,  forsooth,  must  explore  the  cupboard  whence  my  food 
comes,  dig  into  the  well-head  whence  my  water  flows, 
anatomatize  the  hand  that  caresses  me.  There  seems  to  be 
something  above  the  people  in  the  village,  something  over 
their  heads,  what  they  talk  to,  and  seem  to  be  visited  by 
occasionally,  particularly  Sundays,  making  them  solemn 
and  stiff  like  a  cold  wind.  Is  it  God !  What  is  God  ? 
Who  is  God  ?  Heigh  ho  hum — let  me  not  ask  the  question. 
Is  it  Jupiter  or  Ammon  ?  Is  it  a  star  ?  Or  is  it  some- 
thing in  the  state  of  the  weather?  Going  to  Meeting 
Sundays  the  Master  calls  a  septenary  ague,  universal  in 
these  countries.  Yet  the  matter  is  deep  and  penetrating  as 
it  is  anagogical." 

Why  do  you  not  speak  with  the  people,"  said  Mr.  Eve- 
lyn, "and  discover  the  nature  of  their  emotions  and 
thoughts  ?  " 

"  My  sooth !  I  had  rather  lie  here  on  the  grass  and  read 
the  Medulla,  dig  roots,  card  and  spin,  clean  dye-tubs,  pick 
geese,  or  even  go  for  rum — any  thing,  any  thing.  Vox 
populi  vox  Dei,  he  says,  but  it  must  have  a  very  strange 


*  CHRIST.  309 

voice.  The  hygeian  gibberish  of  the  Leech  is  not  half  so 
bad  ;  nor  that  stupendous  word,  honorificability,  he  used  to 
make  me  spell,  half  so  unintelligible.  It  all  runs  of  sins 
and  sinners,  the  fall  and  recovery,  justification  and  election, 
trinity  and  depravity,  hell  and  damnation — they  have  an 
idiosyncrasy  of  phrases,  just  as  the  Free  Masons  have,  and 
Tony,  the  Barber,  and  Joyce  Dooly  the  Fortune-teller 
have  ;  then  there  are  experiences  and  exercises,  ah's  and 
oh's,  sighs  and  laments,  as  if  we  were  about  to  be  burned 
up — and  indeed  they  say  we  are,  at  least  our  family  ;  and 
Pa  laughs  so  about  it  all,  and  the  Master  while  he  seems 
to  join  in  with  it,  only  turns  it  to  ridicule.  Isabel  says  she 
is  growing  tired  of  it,  though  she  is  not  apt  to  complain  of 
any  thing,  and  has  already  been  admonished  against  keeping 
company  with  the  wicked  Indian,  as  they  call  me.  She 
says  that  those  they  call  sinners  are  some  of  the  best  people 
in  the  world,  that  theological  distinctions  do  not  conform  to 
any  thing  that  exists  in  nature.  The  Master  says  that  piety 
is  the  art  of  concealing  one's  original  character,  and  that 
churchmen  are  those  who  have  attained  the  greatest 
proficiency  in  that  art.  But  let  me  hear  what  you  would 
say.  I  have  '  polylogized  '  quite  long  enough.  Are  you  a 
student  for  the  '  sacred  ministry,'  a  class  of  young  men  in 
whose  behalf  the  Dutchman  says  he  has  prepared  his 
Marrow ! " 

"  I  am  not.  But  the  subjects  to  which  you  refer  possess 
a  value  that  engages  all  professions  and  all  minds.  I  have 
a  Bible  in  my  pocket,  or  a  part  of  one." 

"  What !     Are  you  bibbleous  too  ?  " 

"  Bibliopalous,  you  mean." 

"  No,  bibbleous.  When  one  comes  to  our  house  with  a 
flask  of  Old  Holland,  or  a  bottle  of  rum,  we  say  he  is 
bibbleous,  and  has  a  Bible  in  his  pocket.  Pardon  me.  I 


310  MARGARET. 

am  unbridled  as  the  winds.  You  seem  to  be  drawing  upon 
me,  and  I  give  way  here  within,  till  every,  the  most  transient, 
feeling  escapes." 

"  I  know  what  it  is  to  become  the  sport  of  impulses,  and 
will  not  condemn  you  for  that." 

"Speak,  Sir,  and  I  will  listen  quietly.  I  can  trim 
myself  to  patience  when  it  is  necessary." 

"  You  have  heard  of  the  Savior  of  the  world,  Jesus 
Christ?" 

"  Till  I  am  sick  of  the  name.  It  sounds  mawkish  in  my 
ears." 

"  You  do  shock  me  now,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn  with  some 
feeling.  "  You  cause  me  grief  and  astonishment." 

"  I  pray  your  mercy,  Sir  !  What  have  I  done  ?  Your 
look  frightens  me." 

"  That  you  should  speak  so  of  Him  who  to  my  eoul  is 
most  precious." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  distressed  you." 

"  You  have  distressed  one  who  is  dearer  to  me  than  my 
own  life." 

"  Speak  that  name  again." 

"Jesus  Christ" 

«  What,  my  own  Beautiful  One  ?  Christ— yes— that  is 
his  name.  I  had  almost  forgotten  it.  I  have  thought  only 
of  him.  The  name  is  associated  with  whatever  is  distasteful 
in  the  world.  It  is  Christ,  Jesus  Christ.  Is  he  not 
beautiful  ?  " 

"  He  is  described  as  fairer  than  the  sons  of  men." 

"  And  you,  Sir,  know  him  and  love  him,  and  your  inner- 
most sense  is  alive  to  him  ?  You  are  the  first  one  who 
ever  showed  a  deep  natural  sensibility  to  that  One.  I  have 
distressed  you  and  him  through  you,  and  myself  in  him ! 
Therein  lies  my  closet  garnered  being."  Saying  this 
Margaret  turned  her  face  away. 


CHRIST.  311 

« It  is  Whippoorwill,"  said  Job  to  Mr.  Evelyn.  "  Don't 
speak,  now." 

That  gentleman  waiting  a  while  in  silence,  was  obliged, 
by  direct  enforcement,  to  renew  the  conversation. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Here 
is  a  greater  mystery  to  me  than  all  this  strange  world  can 
offer  to  you.  By  what  secret  affinities  are  you  bound  to 
him  who  is  my  life  ?  How  have  you  come  to  know  him 
in  this  heart-felt  manner  ?  Like  Nathaniel  has  he  seen 
you  under  the  fig-tree  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Margaret,  turning  herself,  and  speaking  with 
composure,  "  it  was  under  those  trees  yonder  in  what  we 
call  Diana's  Walk." 

«  What,  that  you  literally  saw  him?  " 

"  It  was  a  dream.  He,  the  Beautiful  One,  called  Christ, 
filled  one  of  the  dreams  of  my  childhood.  He  spoke  to 
me,  he  took  my  hand,  he  kissed  me,  he  blessed  me." 

"  Tell  me  about  it." 

"  It  was  some  years  ago.  Its  remembrance  fades,  then 
brightens  again.  Sometimes  it  bubbles  up  within  me  like 
a.  spring,  sometimes  it  spreads  away  into  a  deep  calm 
surface  like  the  Pond.  It  haunts  me  like  a  summer  cloud. 
In  my  sensibilities  it  lies  and  stirs  me  up  to  weeping. 
Forgive  me  a  thousand  times  that  I  should  have  been  so 
wanton.  When  you  spoke  of  him  in  such  a  way,  I  was 
suddenly  flooded  with  emotion  such  as  I  cannot  describe. 
Isabel  and  Job  know  of  it,  but  they  do  not  precisely  answer 
to  my  feelings.  Indeed  at  the  moment  you  come  up  I  was 
endeavoring  to  form  out  of  the  clouds  some  likeness  to 
what  I  had  seen,  the  One  himself,  the  Cross,  the  Dove  ;  I 
gazed  into  the  heights  of  the  blue  sky  for  some  apparition. 
I  beguile  the  uncertainties  of  my  thought  by  the  creations 
of  my  fancy.  But  that  comes  not,  and  the  clouds  veil 


312  MARGARET. 

over  those  infinite  distances.  He  said  if  I  loved,  I  should 
know.  I  do  love,  how  little  I  know  !  " 

"  But  do,  if  it  pleases  you,  give  me  the  particulars  of 
your  dream." 

Margaret  repeated  what  is  already  in  the  possession  of 
the  reader,  and  recounted  parts  of  other  dreams.  "  But," 
said  she,  as  the  conversation  went  on,  "  1  thought  this  was 
for  myself  alone.  It  has  been  kept  in  my  own  life.  Is  he, 
Christ,  great,  is  he  general  ?  You,  Sir,  seem  to  know  and 
to  feel  him,  though  you  say  you  have  had  no  dreams.  He 
has  been  a  strange  beautiful  flower  in  my  garden,  and  so  he 
exists  in  yours.  What  do  these  things  mean  ?  " 

"Your  question  raises,"  said  he,  "  a  long  train  of  reflec- 
tion. Let  us  be  seated,  and  we  will  go  over  the  matter  with 
that  care  which  it  deserves." 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Margaret,  "  I  would  not  trouble 
you  to  that  extent  now.  Job  promised  that  I  would  go  on 
the  Head  with  you,  it  is  time  to  start — I  must  be  at  home, 
and  help  about  the  dinner." 

«  Where  is  the  cake  for  Egeria  ?  "  said  Job. 

"  I  guess  she  will  have  to  be  content  with  the  grasshop- 
per music,  or  she  may  lie  down  in  the  shade  as  the  cows 
do,"  answered  Margaret.  "  I  did  not  tell  you,  Sir,"  she 
added,  "  that  this  spot  is  consecrated  to  the  nymph  whom 
the  old  Roman  was  wont  to  visit,  and  when  we  go  away  we 
sometimes  leave  a  cake  or  piece  of  bread  both  as  an  obla- 
tion and  for  her  dinner,  and  will  you  believe  it,  Sir,  when 
I  return,  it  is  all  gone.'* 

They  proceeded  towards  the  eminence  called  the  Head. 
Seeing  Chilion  moving  leisurely  in  the  direction  of  the 
water,  Job  importuned  to  go  and  sail  with  him,  and  Mar- 
garet with  Mr.  Evelyn  went  up  the  hill. 

"  How  very  beautiful  this  is !  "  said  the  young  gentleman, 
"  there,  here,  and  every  where." 


THE    HEAD.  313 

"  Look  down  into  this  water,"  said  Margaret,  standing 
on  the  rock  that  overhung  the  Pond,  "  if  your  brain  is 
steady  enough.  This  the  Master  calls  Exclamation  Point. 
I  have  wished  to  drop  into  that  splendid  cloud-flowing 
nadir,  and  if  I  am  missing  one  of  these  days  you  will  know 
where  to  find  me.  You  are  sober — well,  look  off  into  the 
mountains  yonder.  That  is  Umkiddin.  You  will  not 
blame  a  passion  I  cherish  for  climbing  that  sunny  height, 
and  laying  hand  and  heart  in  the  downy  blue." 

"  No,  I  could  not.  But  see  that  point  of  rock  around 
which  the  water  bends,  with  a  great  tree  overshadowing 
the  distance.  So  I  admire  a  river,  not  so  much  in  its  ex- 
panse and  full  tide  as  in  the  turns  and  angles,  where  it 
loses  itself  within  green  shores  and  sinks  away  under  the 
shade  of  cliff  and  forest." 

" '  Loses  itself  ! "  replied  Margaret,  repeating  the  word 
with  some  emphasis.  "  There  you  have  it  again.  Lost,  gone, 
vanishing,  unreachable,  inappropriable,  anagogical ! — I  used 
to  sit  here  in  my  merry  childhood  and  think  all  was  mine, 
the  earth  and  the  sky.  I  ate  my  bread  and  cider,  and  fed 
the  ants  and  flies.  Through  me  innumerable  things  went 
forth ;  the  loons  whooped  me  in  the  water,  in  my  breath 
the  midges  sported,  the  sun  went  down  at  my  bidding,  and 
my  jocund  heart  kindled  the  twilight.  It  now  flies  away 
like  a  bird,  and  I  cannot  get  near  enough  to  put  any  salt 
on  its  tail.  Then  I  owned  so  much  my  losses  were  of  no 
account,  and  though  I  could  not  reach  the  bottom  of  the 
Pond,  I  saw  the  heavens  in  it,  and  myself  sailing  above 
them.  In  the  darkest  night,  with  our  red  tartarean  links, 
Chilion  and  I  have  rowed  across  the  Pond,  and  sniggled 
for  eels,  and  so  we  conquered  the  secrets  of  those  depths. 
I  have  cried  too  in  my  day,  I  have  an  unkind  brother  and 
a  profligate  father,  and  what  with  the  wretchedness  of  those 
VOL.  i.  27 


314  MARGARET. 

I  love  and  their  wickedness,  my  own  heart  has  been  duly 
tortured,  and  these  swollen  veins  have  been  bled  with  weep- 
ing; but  I  seem  also  to  have  lost  the  power  of  tears. 
Those,  like  the  days  of  good  Queen  Bess,  are  gone,  and 
how  shall  they  be  recovered  ?  " 

"  Have  you  no  faith  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Evelyn. 

" '  Faith ' !  That  sanctiloquent  word !  That  is  what  the 
Widow  Luce  dins  me  with." 

"Faith,  trust,  confidence,  repose,  seeing  the  invisible, 
relying  upon  the  spiritual,  having  an  inner  impersonal  in- 
habitancy. In  that  alone  I  am  happy  and  sustained. 
Would  you  were  thus  happy." 

"  I  wish  I  were. — But  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady. 
I  do  not  quite  give  over — I  am  happy,  none  more.  So  in 
the  same  moment  that  I  am  worried  I  am  at  rest.  How  is 
this  ?  What  many-colored  streams  flow  through  us,  blood- 
red,  and  woolly-white  !  Are  we  divided  off  like  sheep  ?  has 
each  feeling  its  fold  ?  Through  our  skies  sail  two  sets  of 
clouds,  one  to  the  North,  one  to  the  South?  Even  now 
while  I  speak  all  I  feel,  there  is  more  in  me  than  I  can 
ever  speak.  What  harmony  circumscribes  the  whole  ?  In 
what  are  pain  and  pleasure  one  ?  I  will  not  ask  you ; 
I  am  happy  ;  greater  simpleton  that  I  am  if  I  were  not. 
Much  I  have  lost,  much  remains,  more  comes.  My  dreams 
have  a  place  within  me ;  and  all  the  books  I  have  read. 
My  home  is  every  year  more  beautiful,  the  trees  more 
suggestive,  the  birds  more  musical,  the  bees  more  knowing. 
Roots  grow  in  new  ways  every  summer,  and  snow  falls  in 
new  forms  every  winter.  There  is  more  in  churning  than 
most  people  think  of.  Time  is  regenerative,  and  new 
births  occur  every  hour.  The  gritty  Earth,  alumen  and 
silex,  spring  up  in  what  is  beautiful  as  thought.  I  have 
also  many  and  improving  visitations,  and  much  select 


MARGARET'S  PANTHEON.        315 

company.  I  told  you  of  Egeria ;  then  there  is  Diana's 
Walk  in  the  woods,  and  close  upon  the  edge  of  the  water 
you  see  some  graceful  white  birches  ;  those  are  the  Nine 
Muses.  Brother  Chilion  is  our  Apollo.  In  the  house  we 
have  St.  Crispin  for  the  shoemaker.  Brother  Hash,  the 
Master  calls  Priapus  ;  the  Leech  we  call  Dea  Salus,  and 
the  road  to  her  house  has  received  from  the  Master  the 
name  of  Via  Salutaris.  Religion  he  says  is  an  anagogical 
parenthesis,  because  it  must  be  spoken  in  a  lower  tone  of 
voice.  No.  4  I  called  Avernus,  and  the  road  to  it  Descen- 
sus  Averni,  but  coming  up,  he  would  have  it  that  it  was 
the  Delectable  Way.  The  Head  is  called  Mons  Bacchi, 
but  our  cistern  I  call  Temperance.  The  Hours  dance 
round  me  in  snowflakes,  Naiads  and  Dryads  inhabit  our 
woods  and  water ;  in  one  of  my  haunts  I  can  show  you  the 
Three  Graces.  That  island  with  a  large  elm  in  the  centre 
is  Feronia's,  where  I  often  go.  The  Head  I  told  you  the 
Master  called  Bacchus's  Hill,  and  sometimes  our  whole 
region  goes  by  that  name,  and  the  Pond  he  says  he  has  no 
doubt  is  the  reappearance  of  the  river  Helicon  into  which 
some  fabled  Orpheus  was  changed,  and  whose  waters  were 
a  long  time  hidden  under  ground  :  so  we  sometimes  call 
our  place  the  Lake  of  Orpheus.  To  which  divinity  we 
are  on  the  whole  consecrated,  I  hardly  know  ;  but  for  my 
part,  I  prefer  the  musical,  to  the  tippling  god.  Then  the 
fair  lady  of  my  dreams  sometimes  comes  to  me  with  her 
pale  beautiful  face.  I  have  also  one  at  the  Widow's,  but 
whether  she  be  a  phantom  or  a  reality  I  know  not,  a  girl 
like  myself,  also  pale,  sad  and  beautiful,  whose  smile  is  an 
enchantment,  even  if  I  know  not  her  hiddtn  self.  Am  I 
not  happy  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  so,"  answered  he, "  but  in  a  manner  different 
from  tije  « world.' " 


316  MARGARET. 

"  Another  word  that  I  do  not  understand  !  What  mean 
you  by  the  '  world  '  ?  " 

"People  about  you,  men  and  women  in  general." 

"  If  you  mean  the  villagers,  the  No.  4's,  Breaknecks  and 
Snakehills,  I  know  I  differ  some  from  them.  They  drink 
rum,  and  I  do  not ;  they  are  unkind  one  with  another, 
which  for  the  life  of  me  I  never  could  be.  Their  Ana- 
gogics  indeed  I  wholly  fail  to  comprehend,  their  Meetings, 
Catechizing,  Freemasonry,  Trainings,  Politics,  Courts,  Jails, 
and  all  that." 

"  Your  religion  is  so  different  from  theirs." 

"  Bless  me,  I  have  no  religion  ;  and  Bull  defend  me 
from  theirs!  Albeit,  as  Deacon  Ramsdill  says,  we  must 
eat  a  peck  of  dirt  before  we  die,  and  perhaps  I  must  make 
mine  out  in  their  religion ! — I  have  offended  you  ;  it  is  just 
as  I  told  you  I  should  do,  if  you  talked  with  me." 

"I  repeat,  that  you  cannot  offend  me,  only  you  must 
allow  what  vou  say  to  make  me  somewhat  thoughtful.  You 
said  you  wanted  to  clamber  up  the  blue  mountain  yonder, 
and  are  ready  even  to  leave  your  pretty  Pantheon  for 
that  acquisition.  That  is  religion,  even  if  you  had  not 
thought  it." 

"  No,  never  would  I  leave  my  '  pretty  Pantheon,'  as  you 
call  it.  But  I  should  like  to  thrust  my  fingers  between 
those  two  blues,  that  of  the  hill  and  of  the  sky.  There 
Christ  has  come  to  me  ;  in  celestial  skyey  softness  has  that 
vision  appeared.  No  one  like  the  Beautiful  One  has  ever 
visited  my  dreams,  my  thoughts,  my  aspirations;  and  I 
have  nothing  about  me  I  dare  call  Christ.  There  is  some- 
times a  cloud  that  stretches  from  Umkiddin  to  the  moon 
when  it  rises,  like  a  turkey's  tail-feather — whence  comes  it  ? 
to  what  serene  eternal  bird  does  it  belong  ?  is  it  part  of  the 
wing  of  Christ  under  whose  shadow  I  may  lie  ?  is  it  the 


MARGARET'S  PANTHEON.         317 

trail  of  the  beautiful  goddess,  Venus  ? — I  know  not.  No, 
I  cannot  leave  my  Pantheon,  and  I  long  for  what  I  have 
not ;  and  that  is  religion,  you  say.  Your  definition  differs 
somewhat  from  my  tutor's,  and  by  it,  I  am  quite  religious ! 
ha,  ha !  Prithee,  tell  me,  Sir,  who  are  you  ?  Are  not  you 
*  the  world'?" 

"  A  sorry  part  of  it,  I  fear ;  yet  removed  enough  from  it 
neither  to  drink  rum  nor  disturb  the  peace  of  others.  I  do 
keep  the  Sabbath  and  go  to  Church  ;  I  do  not  say  the 
Creed,  or  belong  to  any  train-band.  Most  people,  I  confess, 
are  degraded  by  their  piety ;  I  do  believe  there  is  a  worship 
that  purifies  and  ennobles." 

"  You  confound  and  delight  me  both.  I  know  not  what 
to  say.  The  horn  is  blowing  for  dinner,  and  I  am  glad 
something  befalls  to  put  an  end  to  the  perplexity,  Won't 
you  stay  and  have  your  dinner  with  us  ?  I  will  introduce 
you  to  my  home  and  spinning-wheel." 

"  I  am  engaged  at  the  Village. — May  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  again,  Miss  Hart  ?  " 

"Miss  Hart!" 

"  That  is  your  name,  I  believe." 

"  Yes — only  I  was  never  called  so  before,  and  it  sounds, 
strange.  If  I  do  not  give  you  more  pain  than  pleasure, 
you  are  welcome  to  see  me  when  I  am  to  be  seen.  I  have 
a  good  deal  to  do.  Can  you  break  flax  ? " 

"  I  fear  I  should  bungle  at  it." 

"  Then  I  fear  Ma  would  not  like  you.  If  you  could  help 
me  get  thistle-down,  or  rake  hay,  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
you.  I  would  not  pain  a  toad,  I  hope  I  shall  not  you. — 
Where  is  the  Bible  you  spoke  of,  if  it  does  not  make  me 
laugh  to  ask  you  ?  " 

"  You  shall  have  it  if  you  will  promise  me  not  to  laugh 
when  you  read  it." 
•  27* 


318  MARGARET. 

"  I  never  made  a  promise  in  my  life  ;  only  I  will  try." 

"  It  is  not  the  whole  Bible  ;  it  is  the  New  Testament,  so 
called.  I  hope  it  will  please  you." 

"I  don't  know.  '  A  clouted  shoe  hath  oft-times  craft  in 
it,'  Deacon  Ramsdill  says,  and  there  may  be  some  good  in 
the  Bible." 

"  We  have  had  fine  luck,"  said  Job,  meeting  them  from 
the  boat,  as  they  descended  the  hill.  "  Six  white  perch, 
eel-pouts,  and  shiners  a  plenty." 

"  Carry  them  all  to  your  mother,"  replied  Margaret, "  and 
mind  you  give  Whippoorwill  a  taste.  There  is  my  Apollo, 
not  so  fair,  perchance,  as  his  namesake,  but  he  is  as  good. 
He  is  lame,  you  see,  withal,  and  in  that  resembles  his  pro- 
totype ;  and  this  stone  of  my  heart  becomes  melodious 
when  he  plays.  Mr.  Evelyn,  Chilion." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Sir?  '' 

"  Quite  well,  at  your  services,  Sir,"  replied  Chilion. 

"  What  springal  is  that  has  kept  you  from  helping  me  ?  " 
said  Brown  Moll,  coming  to  the  window  with  a  tray  full  of 
hot  potatoes,  as  Mr.  Evelyn  and  Job  turned  down  the  road. 

"  A  fox  after  the  goslin,  hey  ?  "  said  Hash,  who,  with  his 
father,  arrived  at  the  same  moment.  "  I  saw  you  on  the 
Head." 

u  I  guess  he  has  lain  out  over  night,"  said  Pluck.  "  He 
looks  soft  and  glossy  as  your  Mammy's  flax  of  a  frosty 
morning.  Now  don't  take  pet,  Molly  dear." 

"  She  swells  like  a  soaked  pea,"  added  the  old  woman 
"  What's  the  matter,  hussy  ?  I  should  think  he  had  been 
rubb  ing  your  face  with  elm  leaves." 

"  Never  mind,  Molly,"  interposed  her  father.  "  Better 
play  at  small  game  than  stand  out.  You  are  the  spider 
of  the  woods.  Spin  a  strong  web  ;  you  are  sure  to  catch 
something." 


THE   ISLAND.  319 

"  She  looks  as  if  she  had  been  spun,  colored  and  hung 
out  to  dry,"  said  her  mother. 

"  By  time  ! "  exclaimed  Hash,  "  I  smell  potatoes.  Give 
us  some  dinner." 

"  Speaking  of  spinning,"  said  Pluck,  when  the  others 
•were  gone  in,  "  you  know  how  to  use  the  wheelpin — keep 
the  thread  taught  and  easy  in  your  fingers,  mind  the  spin- 
dle, then  buzz  away  like  Duke  Jehu  ; — only  if  he  is  a  dum 
spot  of  a  lawyer  or  a  priest,  weave  him  into  a  breeches-piece, 
and  I'll  wear  him,  I  be  blown  if  I  don't ;  and  when  he  is 
past  mending,  I'll  hang  him  up  for  a  scarecrow,  blast 
him!" 

After  dinner,  Margaret  took  her  boat  and  went  to  the 
Island  called  Feronia's,  remarkable  for  its  great  elm.  She 
threw  herself  on  a  bed  of  mosses  under  the  shade  of  the 
tree.  "  Patience,  Silence,  Feronia,  Venus,  O  Mother 
God !  help  thy  child ! "  she  said,  or  ejaculated  with  herself. 
"  I,  Icarus,  with  waxen  wings,  am  melted  by  the  light  into 
which  I  fly  !  I,  Euridice,  am  in  hell !  my  Orpheus  bore 
me  out  a  little  ways,  left  me,  and  I  am  caught  back  again  ! 
How  cold  I  grow !  Let  me  lie  in  the  sun.  Dear  clouds, 
sweet  clouds !  let  me  shine  and  be  dissolved  with  you ! 
O  Christ ! — Relent,  thou  iron  soul  of  the  skies,  and  speak 
to  me  ! — My  little  boat,  where  is  the  glad  bird-child  you 
used  to  carry?  Still  the  same,  the  oar, the  seat;  the  water 
the  same,  rocks,  woods ;  waves  sing  their  eternal  lullaby, 
boxberries  keep  their  unchanging  red,  shadows  embrace 
me  as  if  my  heart  were  free. — How  I  twattled,  skurried ! 
'  Miss  Hart  I '  Miss  Pan,  Miss  Bacchus,  rather.  Now  I 
grow  hot  again.  Who,  what  am  I  ?  Quis,  Quid !  God 
and  I  alike  anagogical.  Who  or  what  is  he  ?  Let  me  get 
it  right  this  time.  Who  is  Mr.  Evelyn  ?  His  What  is 
what?  What  is  his  Who ?  The  What!  Lucem  inacces- 
sam,  light  inapproachable.  Rose,  too,  the  same. — How 


320  MARGARET. 

kind  his  words,  how  gentle  his  roice,  how  mild  his  looks 
how  benign  and  forbearing  in  nil  things!  And  yet  sanctil- 
oquent,  and  yet  so  different  from  others?  "What  is  'the 
world '  r  Is  ho  it  ?  Lf.  he  like  me  ?  Why  am  I  not  it  ? 
I  will  see  how  this  matter  looks  in  the  water,  let  me  quench 
my  hot  limbs." 

Drifting  along  in  her  boat,  she  bent  over  the  water, — 
"  Molly,  dear,"  said  she,  "  is  that  you  ?  Your  face  is  red 
and  feverish.  Go  to  the  Widow's  and  get  some  balm  tea. 
— Can't  you  keep  cool  down  there  ?  The  sun  shines  there 
as  well  as  here.  Your  hair  wants  combing,  your  dress  is 
disordered,  Neptune's  sea-dog's  would  be  ashamed  o1'  you." 
She  left  her  boat  and  clothes  on  the  shore,  and  immersed 
herself  in  the  grateful  water.  She  returned  to  the  island ; 
she  said,  "  I  will  lie  down  under  the  tree  ;  sleep  is  better 
than  knowledge,  a  bed  kinder  than  God,  the  shadows  more 
beautiful  than  Truth !  Or,  Mr.  Evelyn,  is  rest  given  us 
wherein  we  find  ourselves  and  all  things  ?  Pardon  me, 
Sir."  She  slept  a  long  time,  and  awoke  refreshed  and 
regulated,  resolute  but  subdued ;  with  an  even  hand  and 
quiet  temperature  she  rowed  homewards,  and  went  about 
such  duties  as  domestic  necessity  or  customary  requisition 
imposed. 

In  the  evening  she  went  to  see  Rose,  and  while  she  made 
no  mention  of  Mr.  Anonymous,  she  found  she  had  much  to 
say  of  Mr.  Evelyn.  Rose  embraced  her  with  a  silent,  night- 
like  tranquility,  and  kissed  her  lips  fervently,  which  wa  i 
nearly  all  the  response  she  made.  The  sad  girl  shone  out 
if  at  all,  like  the  moon  through  dark  clouds,  that  are  only 
the  darker  for  tie  brightness  behind  them.  "  death,"  said 
she,  diverging  into  a  train  of  thought  seemingly  suggested 
by  what  Margaret  related,  "Death  will  soon  end  all.  In 
the  grave  we  shall  lie.  and  the  beauty  and  strength  of  ex- 
stence  shall  perish  with  us.  I  only  ask,  Margaret,  that  I 


321 


may  be  buried  side  by  side  with  you.  The  worm  devours 
alike  the  fairest  visions  and  the  most  dismal  forebodings  ; 
decay  shall  feed  sweetly  upon  your  ruddiness  and  vigor, 
your  nobleness  and  benignity.  A  princely  offering  are  we 
to  annihilation.  I  murmur  not,  I  dread  not ;  with  the 
serenity  of  angelic  love  I  submit  to  the  all-o'ersweeping 
fate.  In  your  arms  to  lie,  with  you  to  die,  I  smile  as  I 
sink  into  the  eternal  rest.  Yet  live  on,  Margaret,  while 
you  may;  fill  your  golden  cup,  it  will  never  be  too  late  to 
drink  it,  even  if  death  seizes  you  in  the  act." 


END    OF    VOL.    I. 


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